According to Plan
by ewells4
Summary: This is a multi-chapter story set in the post-5.11 world. Most of the main characters make an appearance at some point, and each chapter contributes to an overall theme that will be clearer after the first chapter. My apologies for the rather vague summary . . . .
1. Chapter 1

**This is going to be a six-parter. There is a theme, which I'm not going to disclose yet. I think it will become obvious, but if not, I'll put it out there at the beginning of the next chapter. My plan is to try and post a weekly update. That being said, the holidays might throw off my schedule, but ultimately, it is my intention to post an update every week. To orient everyone, this would take place sometime post 5.11, and the assumption is that the whole Marlo baby thing becomes a non-issue because this story does not address it at all. Thanks for reading!  
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><p>"So you're missing two rings, a necklace and a pair of pearl earrings?" Andy recited, glancing down at her report to make sure she hadn't missed anything. The suggestion of a smile crossed her lips as she returned her gaze to Hilda Stevenson, all the while thinking that a more accurate moniker for the woman might have been Mother Goose. Plump and powdered with absolutely no aversion to ruffles and lace, she was also disarming, sweet and terribly worried about the jewelry that had gone missing from her third-floor walkup.<p>

"Yes. That's it," Hilda responded, bobbing a head covered in perfectly-placed silver pin curls. "At least, that's all I've noticed. There could be more." She sighed, resting her hands on the counter top between her and Andy. "The rings, in particular, are very dear to me. My Mort gave them to me for our silver and gold anniversaries."

"And you last saw them in your jewelry box?" Andy confirmed, scribbling some notes on the bottom of the form she was filling out.

"Yes. I cleaned my bedroom last Wednesday, and I remember polishing them and putting them back there. They're much too valuable to wear, you understand. Then, when I went looking for my silver broach yesterday morning, I noticed they were missing. So they must have been taken sometime between Wednesday and yesterday morning," Hilda supplied.

"You said you suspect that it might have been, uh . . . ." Andy scanned her notes quickly. "Justin Clark, your dog walker."

Hilda sighed again. "I really do hate to accuse him of something like this. He's been walking Buttons for three years, and there's never been an issue. He's always been such a pleasant young man. I even tried to set him up with my niece a while back, but you know how those things go . . . . Young people are all so busy these days."

"Are you sure he's the only other person who would have had access to your apartment?"

"I'm sure. I gave him a key so that he could come in and take Buttons out when I'm at my ladies' luncheon on Thursdays. So he would've been in my apartment last Thursday."

"Can you think of anything else that might be helpful?" Andy asked, checking her report for any holes.

"I really don't think so. I wish I could offer more. You do understand that the rings really are quite special, don't you?"

"I do," Andy assured her. "And we're going to do our best to help you locate them."

"Does that mean you'll start investigating immediately?"

"Uh, I don't know . . . ." Andy hesitated as her eyes darted around the mostly-empty station.

"I was hoping you'd be able to look into this today. I don't know exactly when they went missing and if Justin did take them, he'll probably try to sell them quickly." Hilda's voice trembled, and she rummaged in her rather large handbag, finally producing a white handkerchief. As she dabbed at the corners of her eyes, she meekly conceded, "Of course, I do understand that you're all very busy with much more important crimes to solve."

Suppressing a groan, Andy noted that the initials on the handkerchief were MES—Mort Stevenson. The woman was completely adorable and she was asking for help. The last thing Andy wanted to tell her was that they just didn't have the resources to make her lost jewelry a priority.

Andy smiled patiently at the rotund, little woman. "We'll do our best, Mrs. Stevenson."

"_Please_," Hilda begged, seizing Andy's hand in both of her own. "Do you have a special someone in your life, Officer McNally?"

Andy schooled her features into a neutral expression, locking her eyes onto Hilda to keep them from wandering toward the Detectives' office. "I do," she said slowly.

"Then you must know what it feels like when that special person gives you a symbol of that incredible love and commitment. An engagement ring, a wedding ring, an anniversary gift . . . ."

"Actually, it's none of the above. I mean, we're not engaged. Or married. Or anything like that. But, um, there's definitely someone special," she stammered, silently chastising herself for disclosing so many details of her personal life to a stranger.

"Then you understand," Hilda persisted, leaning toward Andy from the other side of the counter. "And you'll help me?"

"Okay. Yes." As Andy heard the words coming out of her mouth, she knew that prioritizing Hilda's case was going to be a long shot. "We'll try to get someone on it this afternoon."

"That would be _wonderful_," Hilda declared, smiling in relief.

* * *

><p>Andy slipped into the Detectives' office, moving with a purposeful stride as she honed in on Sam from behind. She brushed against his shoulder in passing, and he looked up from the file he was reviewing while she settled herself on the corner of his desk.<p>

A slow smile spread across his face. "How's it going out front?"

"Riveting, as always. I've done four shifts out there this month. Do you think it's possible that Oliver secretly hates me?"

"Oh, I know he hates you."

"Really?" she laughed. "And how do you know that?"

"He told me." Sam dropped his voice to a whisper. "But don't mention anything about it because I told him I wouldn't say anything."

"Shut up." She leaned forward and shoved him playfully.

"I actually kind of like it when you're out front," he confessed, leaning back in his chair and looking out the window beside him. "If I lean back just like this and look straight through the middle of those two columns, I've got a pretty decent view of the desk."

"So you've been spying on me?"

"Sometimes."

"That's sweet," she cooed, "and also a little bit creepy." She nudged his leg with her shoe, and he grabbed it and held it in his lap. "So, um, what are the odds of getting someone to go out and look into a report about some stolen property?"

"When?"

"This afternoon," Andy said hopefully, adding what she assumed to be a fairly persuasive smile.

"What's the property?"

"A couple of rings, some earrings, a necklace . . . ."

"That's all?" Sam asked, seemingly underwhelmed by the items she'd just listed.

"That's it." Andy's smile slowly faded. She'd known that would be his response. It was the same thing she would've said if someone came to her with Hilda's list of stolen property. It would take an incredibly uneventful day to bring Hilda's case to the top of anyone's pile.

"Odds aren't good for today," Sam informed her. "Everyone's tied up with that armed robbery from last night. The kid behind the register's in critical condition, and we're getting a lot of pressure from the media to produce a suspect. I've actually got a guy being brought in for questioning in a few minutes."

"So there's no one?" she asked weakly. She reduced her voice to a near-whisper as she reluctantly admitted, "I know I shouldn't have, but I sort of promised this woman we'd look into it."

The sudden appearance of wide eyes and a slack jaw greeted Andy's admission. "McNally, why would you do that?"

"I honestly don't know," she laughed nervously. "The woman was just really sweet and look, I know I shouldn't have promised her, but I couldn't help it. She hit me with this story about how her dead husband gave her the rings as anniversary gifts. They were married for _fifty-two_ years, Sam. She's worried that the suspect might try to sell them and then they'll be harder to trace."

"You let an elderly woman work you over?" he asked smugly, dropping her foot as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Did I mention there were _pictures_? An _album_ full of pictures. Them on their wedding day, vacationing in Maui, Mort's retirement party, their fiftieth anniversary . . . . Even you would've been putty in this woman's hands."

"I doubt that." Sam exhaled loudly. "Okay, fine."

"_Fine?_" Andy definitely hadn't expected that response. What she'd expected was a long lecture and an unsuccessful attempt at convincing him that they should make Hilda's complaint a priority.

"Yeah. Fine. Go out and do some digging. You can take Diaz with you," he told her, looking behind him at the desk where Chris was sitting. "He's ours for the day, so you can have him for a few hours."

"Um, okay. Sure," she responded hesitantly. "But Oliver has me on desk. I can't just take off."

"Don't worry about Oliver. I'll talk to him. I think I saw Peck around here somewhere. She can cover you until you get back. We'll just tell her to lock the door if she sees any little old ladies hobbling toward the building."

Andy rolled her eyes at him. "You're hilarious."

"So what's your plan?"

"She thinks it might've been this guy who walks her dog. He's an art student, mid-twenties, sounds like money's kind of tight . . . ."

"You're going over to talk to him?"

"Maybe. I'm thinking it might be a good idea to check out the woman's apartment first, though," she explained.

"Planning to interview the dog to see if he saw anything?"

"_No_. I just think I should check out her place and make sure she didn't misplace the jewelry, rule out any signs of forced entry . . . . that sort of thing."

"Makes sense." Sam nodded thoughtfully at her. "You must've had a pretty great training officer."

"Meh. He was okay," she responded with a shrug as she slid off of his desk. "You ready, Chris?"

"Sure thing." Chris stood up and pushed his chair underneath the desk. As he passed Sam on the way to the door he asked, "You're sure you'll be okay without me?"

"We'll manage, Diaz. Just let me know how it goes."

* * *

><p>"No wonder you couldn't resist her," Chris told Andy as they pulled away from Hilda's apartment building an hour later. "She's awesome. If I were fifty years older, I'd probably ask for her number."<p>

"I don't think you should let the age difference be a limiting factor," Andy said. "You're single . . . she's single . . . why not just go for it?"

"Unfortunately, the dog's kind of a deal breaker. Did you check out the teeth on Buttons?"

"Who names their Doberman Buttons?"

"Do you think he might've eaten the jewelry?"

"Let's not rule that out as a possibility," Andy muttered as she scanned the next block looking for Justin Clark's address. Slowing down in front of a four-story brick building, she said, "I think this is it. Second floor. 2B."

As Andy pulled into a small lot beside the building, Chris asked, "So this guy's a student?"

"Yeah. Started walking Buttons a few years ago to pick up some extra cash. Hilda thinks he might be having trouble paying his bills because he asked her for a loan last month. "

Finding a parking spot in the middle of the afternoon turned out to be easy, and within minutes, she and Chris were standing in the lobby scanning mailboxes to confirm that they had the right place. "There," Andy said, pointing at a box on the second row. "Justin Clark. 2B."

As they headed for a door marked Stairs, Chris asked, "Do we have a plan?"

"Nope."

"We're just gonna knock on the door and ask the guy if he stole his employer's jewelry?"

"Pretty much. Except with more tact, of course."

When they were two flights up, they opened the door to the second floor and entered a long hallway with seven or eight apartments off of it. The carpet was a dark orange, which did very little to improve the appearance of the dull, poorly-lit corridor. Andy curled her lip in distaste. "Gotta love crappy student housing."

"2B," Chris announced, tapping a tarnished number attached to the second door on the left.

From the other side of the door, Andy heard the competing sounds of daytime TV and a blender. As she raised her hand and knocked several times, the blender noise stopped abruptly. Within seconds, the door slowly opened.

"Good morning, Officers." It was the slow drawl of a guy who had only recently dragged himself out of bed—or perhaps off of the floor, as the case may be. A severe case of bed head and faded black flip-flops bookended an ensemble consisting of a wrinkled white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, leading one to deduce that for this guy, morning was a fluid concept. Andy glanced at her watch, confirming that it was, in fact, one-thirty in the afternoon.

"Justin Clark?" Andy asked.

"Yeah," he answered warily. "Everything okay?"

"We just need to ask you some questions," Chris supplied. "Can we come in?"

"Sure, but I only have a few minutes. I've got this art show at—" The statement hung loosely in the air as he suddenly ducked past Andy and ran toward the door to the stairwell.

Andy stared at Chris in confusion. "Did that just happen?"

"Think so."

"_Great_." She shook her head in disbelief, already starting to jog down the hallway after the suspect. "Are you coming?" she called back over her shoulder.

When she reached the stairwell Andy could hear Justin's feet pounding against the stairs below and she quickened her pace. "Hey!" she yelled. "We just wanna talk to you."

Her feet banged out an urgent, staccato rhythm against the stairs as she closed the gap between her and Justin, but just when she caught sight of him on the last set of stairs, he disappeared through the door to the lobby. Andy pushed herself harder and finally managed to catch up to him as he exited the building onto the sidewalk. She knew that if she didn't take him down quickly they risked the possibility that he might dissolve into a crowd of people, so she lunged forward, easily knocking him to the ground with barely an "oomph." By the time Chris reached them, her breathing was returning to normal and she was sitting upright on the suspect's back with his arms pinned neatly in her grasp.

"Take it _easy_," Justin whimpered, struggling beneath her. "You're hurting me."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you run away from a couple of cops who just came by _to ask you some questions_," she informed him as she tightened her grip.

"Fine. What do you wanna know? You really are hurting my arms . . . ."

"If I let go, how do we know you won't take off again?" Andy demanded, loosening her hold on him.

"I won't," he moaned. "Just get off of me. _Please_."

As Andy rolled off of his back, Chris crouched down and dragged Justin to his feet. "Don't even think about running again," Chris warned him in a clipped tone.

Justin dusted off his pants and stood up, scowling at Andy. "Why did you have to tackle me?"

"What did you think was going to happen when you took off running?" Andy responded coolly as her thoughts involuntarily slipped to Sam and her first day on the job. It wasn't often that she had to tackle a suspect, but every time she did, she thought back to their beginning that day in the alley.

The relentless griping of Justin Clark snapped her back to the present as he provided his own sullen suggestion. "Well your technique could use some finesse." Making no secret of his displeasure, he said, "Let's just get this over with. What did you want to ask me about?"

"For starters, why did you run?" Andy asked.

"I don't know. I guess I thought you were here about this party my roommate had at our place last night."

Chris raised an eyebrow and gruffly inquired, "What kind of party?"

"The kind of party you don't invite cops to." When his response earned him a stern look from Chris, he said, "Okay, okay . . . so there was some stuff being passed around and I just thought maybe Reynolds called the cops about it."

"Who's Reynolds?" Andy asked.

"Just a kid someone invited. A real straight-laced, button-up type, y'know? He seemed kind of freaked out about what was going on."

"Sounds like maybe he was right to be freaked out," Andy noted.

"Look, are you planning to arrest me for the party or not?" Justin asked, issuing the ultimatum with an impatient assertiveness that was as audacious as it was ill-advised.

Andy sneered at him. "For a guy who just ran from the cops and then admitted to peddling drugs out of his apartment—"

"Hey, I didn't say anything about selling the stuff," he responded in a shrill tone. "See, these guys from down the hall showed up _bearing gifts_ . . . . What were we supposed to do? Tell them to leave? That's not exactly the neighborly thing to do, if you know what I mean."

"No, we _don't_ know," Andy said. "But it's your lucky day, because as it turns out, that's not why we're here."

"It's not?"

"We're investigating some missing property," Andy said, watching his eyes closely to gauge his reaction.

"What property?" His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion, and Andy was forced to acknowledge that he did seem genuinely surprised.

"Some things that belong to Hilda Stevenson."

"Wait. _Hilda_ sent you here?"

"Yes. Hilda," Andy said, snapping off each word. "Some of her jewelry's missing and since you were the only other person who has access to her apartment—"

"What're you talking about?" Justin scoffed. "I didn't take anything from Hilda's place, and I'm not the only person with a key."

Andy regarded him with a mixture of interest and doubt. "You're not?" On that point, Hilda had been clear. She'd said Justin was the only other person who had a key to her apartment.

"No. Her niece is over there all the time. Why wouldn't her own niece have a key to her place? Doesn't exactly make sense, does it?"

"Maybe they're not close," Chris suggested.

"Trust me. They're tight. You really should be talking to her because I'm telling you, I didn't steal Hilda's stuff," he huffed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I can't even believe she's accusing me of something like that. I've been walking that dog for four—no, three—years. That's some way to say thanks." He looked wounded by the insinuation, and Andy had to admit that he seemed to be truly bothered by it.

"Woah. Back up," Andy said. "She's not accusing you of anything. We just came by to talk to you because you have a key to her apartment and you were there during the time when the jewelry went missing."

"When would that be?" he asked.

"Within the past four or five days."

"Then I don't know why she'd send you to me. I wasn't even around last week. You can ask my roommate. We went camping with our buddy Virgil . . . just got back yesterday afternoon. Hilda knew that because I told her I wouldn't be coming by to walk the dog."

Andy narrowed her eyes at Justin. "What?"

"I wasn't here," he repeated.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Chris whispered, leaning in close to Andy. Turning his attention to Justin, he said, "And _you_, don't even think about running."

Justin rolled his eyes, tapping a foot impatiently against the sidewalk. "Relax, man—_Officer_. I'm not going anywhere."

Chris took Andy's arm and steered her a few feet away from Justin. "I don't think he's our guy," he muttered in a low voice.

"Yeah. Me either," she agreed with some reluctance. "Something like that would require him to get up before noon, and the guy's just not that motivated. And it sounds like he might actually have an alibi. He didn't even walk her dog last week. Why would she tell me he was there?"

"We should probably talk to the niece. See if she knows anything," Chris said.

"Yeah. What about this guy? Do you think it's okay to cut him loose? I mean, we could haul him in on the drug stuff, but what do we really have for evidence? Supposedly, there was a party at his apartment, and there was something illegal being passed around. We don't know what, how much or who was doing it. We have no witnesses other than Justin himself, and as soon as his lawyer shows up, that story's bound to change."

"Right," Chris agreed. "So let's just get what we can from him about the niece and let him go back to his blender."

As they walked back over to Justin, Andy said, "So tell us about Hilda's niece. Where can we find her?"

"How would I know? I barely know her."

"Come on, Justin," Andy prodded. "You gotta give us something."

"She could be at work, I guess. She works at that bakery a few blocks down on the right. The one with the cupcakes in the window."

"How about a name and an address?" Chris asked, pulling out a small notepad. "While you're at it, give us the names of the friends who can back up your story, too."

Justin rattled off the names and addresses of two of his friends and then said, "Hilda's niece's name is Brenda, but I don't know where she lives. I already told you, I don't know much about her."

Andy sighed, realizing the well was running dry. "Okay. Here's the deal. We're gonna let you go back to whatever you were doing, but we'll be back if anything you told us doesn't check out."

"And don't even think about disappearing on us," Chris added. "You're not off the hook yet."

"I got it," Justin grumbled. He was already edging toward the door to his building as Andy and Chris turned to walk back to the cruiser.

"None of this makes any sense," Andy said. "Why would Hilda tell me Justin was the only person with a key? She barely even mentioned having a niece. And why didn't she tell me he was out-of-town all last week?"

"Who knows. People have all kinds of reasons for doing things. Maybe she was trying to protect the niece. Maybe she's confused. The only way to know for sure is to head down to that bakery and ask," Chris said firmly.

Andy cut her eyes in his direction, noticing a curious bounce to his step. "You seem strangely motivated today," she observed with a laugh. "Got a hot date tonight?"

"What do you mean? I'm just following the trail of evidence. That's the great thing about police work. You never know where it'll lead you."

"Sure," she said, wrinkling her brow at his sudden burst of positivity. "I just hope there's jewelry at the end of this trail."

"You never know," he told her as they climbed into the car. "I have a good feeling about this one, though."

* * *

><p>"<em>Brenda!<em> _Some people are out here to see you!_" a beleaguered bake shop employee bellowed from behind the rerigerated display case. She looked like she'd gone swimming in a vat of flour and Andy was fairly certain that the patch of hair just above her ponytail was playing host to an as yet undiscovered glob of pink frosting.

When a string of bells attached to the front door signaled the entry of another customer, the girl muttered something inaudible and rolled her eyes as she pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves. Andy's eyes wandered to Chris and she stifled a laugh when she saw him trading uncomfortable smiles with the man behind them.

The sudden swish of a swinging door behind the counter drew their attention to a second employee, this one slightly less disheveled than the other. Her thick mound of dark hair was swept up into a hairnet and most of her body was concealed by a roomy white smock with only a few smudges of colored frosting on the sleeves. She looked at the other girl behind the counter expectantly.

"They're here to see you," the girl said absently, barely sparing Chris and Andy a sideways glance.

"Officers?" Brenda asked. Her smile was pleasant enough but it did nothing to mask the confusion in her voice.

Andy spoke up immediately. "We just have a few questions. Is there a private place where we can talk?"

"Sure. Why don't you come back here and we can talk while I work." She motioned for them to follow her to the back of the bakery.

As the door swung shut behind them, Brenda looked back over her shoulder. "I'm sorry about Lacey. The other person who works the front with her called in sick and she's been out there alone for most of the day. We've got five wedding cakes in the works for this weekend or I'd go out and help her myself."

Brenda stopped beside a stainless steel table with a white, multi-tiered concoction towering up from its center. "So what can I do for you?"

Andy pulled out her notepad and flipped it open. "Well . . . your aunt reported some missing jewelry, and we were hoping you might be able to help us figure out what happened to it."

"Hilda?" Brenda asked, settling onto a stool beside the table. "She didn't say anything to me about that. What happened?"

"She thinks someone might've stolen it," Chris offered. "Someone who had access to her apartment when she wasn't home."

"Oh, and I have a key . . . ."

"Hilda didn't accuse you of taking her jewelry," Andy amended quickly. "We just happened to hear from another source that you have access to her apartment, and we were hoping you might be able to help."

Brenda shrugged. "Well, I can tell you I didn't take anything from my aunt's apartment. Beyond that, I probably don't know much. It's actually been a couple of weeks since I've been over there."

"Can you think of anyone else who might be involved?" Chris asked.

"Not really. Are you sure she didn't misplace it?"

"At this point, we're not sure of anything," Andy responded, looking down at her notepad, which was full of information she'd taken from Hilda—incomplete and incorrect information, as it turned out.

"Have you talked to her son?" Brenda asked.

Andy scrunched up her nose. "Whose son?"

"Hilda's."

"You're kidding, right? Hilda has a_ son_?" Andy repeated, forcing her voice to stay level.

"Yeah," Brenda laughed. "She didn't mention him?"

"She, uh, appears to have overlooked some information," Andy explained, clenching and unclenching her jaw. "I assume he has a key to her apartment."

Brenda nodded and Andy fought the temptation to groan. "How many people have access to Hilda's place?" Andy asked.

"I really couldn't say. Three or four? Maybe more? Brian—her son—would definitely know, though. You'll probably want to talk to him."

"Can you tell us where we can find him?" Andy asked.

"Sure." Brenda got up and walked to a nearby desk. Rummaging around on the desktop, she finally located a pad of paper and scribbled some information on it. As she extended the paper toward Andy, she looked hesitant. "You know, Officers, Hilda's a great lady, but she's alone a lot. It's just her and Muffin in the apartment most of the time."

"Don't you mean Buttons?" Chris corrected her.

She rubbed a hand across her forehead and smiled apologetically. "Yeah, Buttons, of course. That's what happens when you get up at 4 a.m. and stare at nothing but wedding cakes all day. Anyway, the point is, she's by herself most of the time with no one to bounce things off of. Sometimes that leads her to jump to conclusions."

"Okay. We'll keep that in mind," Andy said, looking over the name and number Brenda had given them.

"Hey, Andy," Chris interrupted, picking up a bride and groom cake topper from the table. "This one looks a lot like you and Swarek."

"You think so?" Andy laughed, noting with some surprise that it did look a lot like her and Sam.

Brenda took the cake topper from Chris and examined it. "He's right, Officer McNally. There's definitely a strong resemblance. If you're planning to get married soon, let me know and I'll put one aside for you."

"I'm good, but thanks," Andy said, ducking her head to look at her notes so that Brenda and Chris wouldn't see the blush she felt sweeping across her cheeks. "If you think of anything else, will you call us?" She dug into her pants pocket and pulled out a card.

"Of course," Brenda promised. "Good luck with your investigation."

* * *

><p>"I don't know what to tell you, Officers. It's certainly possible that someone stole my mother's jewelry, but I'd lay odds on her having misplaced it. This isn't the first time something's gone missing only to magically reappear in a week or two."<p>

"So this kind of thing has happened before?" Andy asked.

"On occasion. Mom's getting older, and she likes to rearrange things. Sometimes that means misplacing them for a while."

"Okay," she said, resigning herself to the truth, which was that they'd probably wasted their afternoon looking for stolen property that wasn't actually stolen. "Well, we appreciate your time."

"No problem. Hey, I don't suppose either of you is in the market for a house?"

Chris shook his head as Andy answered, "Sorry, but no."

"That's a shame," Brian told them. "This place is a real find. It won't stay on the market long."

"Believe me. I know," Andy agreed. "Great neighborhood. Great schools. Tree-lined streets. Lots of kids. This would be the perfect place to start a family." She'd often thought that when she rode through the area, and the house Brian was selling was certainly the type of place where she could see herself living someday. More specifically, she could see herself living in a house like that with Sam.

"You put together a pretty good sales pitch, Officer McNally," Brian observed. "Maybe you should stick around for the rest of the open house and help me sell this place."

Andy laughed. "It would probably be more fun than investigating a jewelry theft that may not have happened."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'll let you know if I think of anything else."

"Thanks," Andy said, shaking his hand as she and Chris walked back out onto the front porch.

"Thanks for a great afternoon, Hilda," she murmured, allowing the bitterness to seep into her tone. "You know, part of me wants to just go over to her place right now and be like, 'What the hell, lady?'"

"So you don't think the niece or the son is responsible?"

Andy looked thoughtful before finally answering. "I guess it's possible, but I just didn't get that vibe from either of them. Did you?"

"Not really. And Brian doesn't think anyone else had access to the apartment, so it does seem like she might've just misplaced it. Do you wanna head over to her place to talk to her again?"

"Not really," Andy said. "Why don't we just let this be tomorrow's problem?"

Chris smiled. "Why do it today if we can put it off until tomorrow?"

"Exactly."

* * *

><p>Andy slumped against her front door, forcing it closed with her back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, gradually traveling to a world in which Hilda Stevenson and her missing jewelry ceased to exist.<p>

"Tired?"

Andy opened one eye, and her lips curled into a half smile. "I saw your truck outside." She pushed herself away from the door and approached the couch, dropping down beside Sam and collapsing backwards into the cushions. An array of takeout containers, plates and utensils was spread out on the coffee table in front of them. She sighed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. "You brought me dinner?"

"I did," he confirmed as he slid down onto the floor between the couch and the table and popped open a container.

"Wait," Andy said suddenly, leaning forward to inspect one of the cartons. "Is that from Siam Orchid?"

"Yep." He handed her a plate as she eagerly joined him on the floor. "Hungry?"

"Duh. _Yes_," she laughed, sliding the plate onto the coffee table and dumping a heaping portion of noodles onto it. "I can't believe you got my favorite. Siam Orchid isn't exactly in the neighborhood."

"Nothing but the best . . . ." He leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and smooth, virtually erasing all thoughts of her wasted afternoon.

"That's nice," she breathed. When he kissed her again, she hummed appreciatively. "Keep 'em coming."

"One more," he said, smiling smugly as he held up a single finger to illustrate his point.

"Three."

"Two," he mouthed, brushing his lips against hers again.

When he pulled away, he left behind a saucy grin on her face as she informed him, "Two was my goal all along."

Looking equally satisfied with himself, Sam leaned in and whispered, "Mine, too."

"Then we both got what we wanted, I guess. Want a beer?" Andy began pushing herself up from the floor but fell back into place when he held out a hand to stop her.

"Got it covered," he explained. Reaching behind him, he retrieved two bottles and an opener, holding them up for her inspection.

"Wow. I guess you do," she said. "Thanks for bringing me dinner. I had a really weird afternoon, but this kind of makes it all better."

He shrugged. "Not really a big deal. I finished up early and I just thought you might be hungry when you got home."

"You got that right." She glanced at his empty plate. "Are you not eating?"

"In a minute," he said simply, resting one arm on the coffee table and one arm on the couch as he leaned toward her.

"Aren't you worried the food will get cold?"

He shook his head, dropping his eyes for several seconds as he said, "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

He swallowed and when he looked back up at her, Andy didn't miss the uneasiness that flickered in his eyes. He almost seemed . . . nervous? "Sam, what's wrong?"

His response was immediate and definitive as if he wanted to head off any growing concern that he might be causing. "Nothing. Andy, nothing's wrong." He rested one hand on her shoulder, drawing long, soothing circles there with his thumb.

When he offered nothing else, Andy cleared her throat. "Nothing's wrong?" she countered. "Clearly something's up. I can tell."

Sam took a deep breath and squeezed her shoulder lightly. He smiled to himself and nodded as he reached around behind his back with the other hand and produced a black velvet box. Setting it on the table between them, he locked eyes with her, and the hand on her shoulder slowly crept toward the exposed skin on the side of her neck, gently initiating a steady back and forth rhythm when it reached its mark.

"Sam," Andy said carefully, hearing an involuntary tremor in her voice. "What is this?"

"McNally, you know what this is," he responded, meeting her eyes as understanding passed between them. "This is me asking you to marry me."

Andy blinked once, long and slow, clearing away any confusion that still existed as it hit her full force that _this_ was really happening. Sam was proposing to her. As his words seeped into her consciousness, she half expected them to be greeted by the same mounting fear and anxiety that she'd often known in such situations. It had happened so many times before that Andy instinctively waited for the familiar strains of panic to take over, effectively stifling every impulse but her reflexive need for self-preservation. When they didn't come, however, she found herself in unfamiliar waters—the refreshing stillness of a quiet inlet rather than the tumultuous sea of harsh undercurrents she'd been expecting.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked, examining her face as if he were digging for clues to her reaction.

"Yes," she said quietly and then, because she wasn't sure he'd heard her, she said it again, much clearer and definitely louder. "_Yes_."

"Yes to which question?" His voice betrayed a trace amount of uncertainty, and the soothing pattern he'd been creating on the side of her neck suddenly stopped.

"Both," she informed him as a small smile evolved into a more confident grin.

He raised an eyebrow at her. _"Yes?"_

"Yes," she repeated, trying not to sound as giddy as she was beginning to feel. "Did you actually think I would say 'no?'"

He shook his head back and forth slowly, biting back a grin. "I'm never quite sure when it comes to you."

Winding her arms around his neck, she pulled him in closer, looking him squarely in the eye as she said, "In the future, I'll try to be more of a sure thing."

"I doubt that," he returned easily, bumping his forehead against hers and eying her with a dubious expression.

"Just don't ever doubt that I love you, okay?" She kissed him lightly. "Sam, I mean that."

"McNally?"

"Yeah?"

"You're hijacking my proposal."

"Then by all means," she said with a smirk, "please continue."

She released him and dropped her hands to her lap, watching his movements with a curious anticipation as he reached for the box on the table beside them.

Barely capable of suppressing some of her more girly emotions, she stifled a giggle and reminded herself to breathe. "You know, given the afternoon I've had, this is strangely appropriate."

"Probably not what you had in mind when you went looking for rings, though."

"Trust me. This is _much_ better," she said as he slid the ring onto her finger. She extended her arm and flexed her fingers, allowing the diamond to reflect the light from the lamp beside the couch. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

He exhaled slowly. "Too long."

"How long is too long?" she asked. "Are we talking days or weeks?"

It was a calculating look that she received in response—one that told her he was carefully measuring his answer. "Well, it wasn't days and it wasn't weeks . . . . Let's just say I was thinking about it even when things weren't so good between us."

Andy smiled. Hearing him say that their future was on his mind even when everything between them had seemed so dark and hopeless made her happier than almost anything he'd ever told her. For her, it was that one tiny cinder in an otherwise lifeless pile of ash and rubble. It meant that everything about the time they'd been apart wasn't necessarily hollow and dismal.

"Me, too," she admitted sheepishly, watching him from beneath partially-veiled eyelids.

"Really?" The look she saw on his face was one of mild surprise mingled with disbelief.

"Yes, Sam. _Of course_. I thought about our future a lot. I mean, I didn't think there was much hope for us . . . ."

"Yeah. I didn't either," he agreed, brushing a hand across her forehead as he swept an errant strand hair back behind her ear. "But that didn't stop me from thinking about it."

"Who knew you were such a planner?" Andy said, issuing the gentle tease as his hand slid down the length of her hair and lingered on her shoulder before falling away.

"Only when it really matters." He reached for her beer, sliding it across the table to her before popping the top off of his own and taking a healthy swig.

"We should have a toast," she suggested, grinning uncontrollably at him.

"Okay." He licked his lips and held his bottle close to hers. "To Andy McNally—for agreeing to marry me and for making me happier than I've ever been in my life."

She clinked her bottle against his and said, "To her _fiancé_ Sam Swarek, the only man she could ever imagine spending the rest of her life with." She tapped her bottle against his again and took a long sip, holding his gaze the entire time. To Andy, Sam did look happier than she'd ever seen him. During the months since they'd gotten back together he'd gradually been unlocking more and more of himself to her and now, as she studied him, he seemed almost completely unguarded.

"And to Hilda Stevenson," Sam added, elongating each word as his bottle bumped hers once more.

"Yeah, here's to Hilda. May she find her—wait, what did you say?"

"Hilda Stevenson," he said with a knowing look. "Wasn't she the woman with the missing jewelry?"

"Sure," Andy said, cocking her head at him, "but I don't remember telling you her name."

"I don't remember it either," he said, sipping his beer calmly as the wheels started turning in Andy's head. Sam had been strangely helpful when it came to the investigation. Uncharacteristically helpful, in fact. She fast-forwarded through her afternoon with Chris, finally groaning loudly. "The whole thing with Hilda . . . that was _you_?"

His self-satisfied expression told her all she needed to know.

Shoving him lightly in the shoulder, she demanded, "_Why?_"

"Just a little insurance policy. I wanted to make sure you were in the right frame of mind."

"So Brenda the cake lady, Brian the real estate guy, that idiot Justin Clark . . . all of that was you?"

"All of it."

You planned the whole thing?" she asked again.

"Sure. It was kind of like working a case in reverse. Turns out I'm just as incredible at laying out a crime as I am at solving it."

"Okay, so the wedding cake thing . . . that seems obvious. And the real estate guy . . . that house . . . that was supposed to make me think about the future, right? And, of course, Hilda herself was hammering the marriage angle pretty heavily. But Justin Clark? That wasn't real?"

"Nope. Just a guy who owed me a favor. Now I guess I owe him one because according to him, you weren't exactly gentle."

"Did you tell him to run?" she demanded with a laugh.

"I did."

"Then you knew what was probably going to happen," she surmised. "You assumed I would knock him down."

"I didn't tell him that, though."

"Tackling that guy was supposed to remind me of the way we met, wasn't it?"

"Yes." He smiled indulgently at her.

"What if I'd tried to arrest him?"

"That's why Diaz was there—to make sure you didn't get yourself into trouble."

"So Chris knew none of it was real . . . . No wonder he was in such a good mood. How about Brenda at the bakery? Who was she?"

"Old informant. Also owed me a favor."

"And Hilda Stevenson?"

Sam chuckled, resting a hand on her thigh. "Owed Oliver a favor."

"So Oliver was in on it, too . . . ."

"Well, you know, he's always been a big supporter. Hilda—real name Mary Ellen—is actually a friend of Celery's. Apparently, she's quite a star on the local theatre scene."

"I don't doubt it," Andy reflected. "She really worked me over. She even had pictures. And those stories about her dead husband were so _convincing_."

"She actually went a lot further than I expected. That photo album was all her."

"What about the dog? Was it even hers?"

"Yeah. That's her real dog. I came up with the name, though."

"Did you know it was a Doberman?"

"I didn't," he said with a grin. "I was picturing something smaller like a poodle."

"Definitely _not _a poodle," she laughed. "What about the real estate agent? Owed you a favor, too?"

"Nah. He was just willing to play along because he was hoping to sell a house. I told him if things worked out, he might be hearing from us in a few years."

"Well, he was really good, too. You're lucky I didn't sign on the dotted line and buy that place today. I love that neighborhood."

"I know you do," he responded. "The real estate agent's name actually is Brian Stevenson, by the way, but he's not Hilda's—_Mary Ellen's_—son. I started with him and built the rest of the story from there."

Andy rested her hand on top of his, slowly weaving their fingers together. "So when do you want to get married?" she finally asked, biting her lip as she glanced at the ring on her finger.

"Soon."

"How soon?" she asked, feeling surprised by his readiness.

"I don't know. Maybe late fall?" He squinted at her as if he were testing her reaction. "Summer probably wouldn't give us enough time to pull together a wedding."

"_You_ want a _real _wedding?"

"Sure." His response was easy and automatic, surprising her yet again.

"An actual wedding with all the trimmings?" she persisted.

"I want what you want, and we both know you want the trimmings. Besides, it might be fun to celebrate. It took us long enough to get here."

"Boutonnieres? Champagne toasts? Real human beings at an actual ceremony? You're okay with all of that?"

"The whole ball of wax," he assured her.

"Okay, then . . . . So late fall . . . six months away . . . difficult but I think we can make it work."

"Do you want to wait longer?" he asked.

"No, I really don't." As soon as she said it, she saw Sam relax in front of her.

"McNally, are you sure you're ready?"

"_Yes, I'm ready_. Sam, I'd marry you tomorrow if I could."

"That can be arranged, you know."

"No way. If you're offering, I want a wedding," she said quickly. "Something special. Not huge and over-the-top. Just a day that's about us."

"Special it is, then." He nudged her plate toward her. "Now eat. I know you're hungry."

"I am a little hungry," she said with a smile, eying him as she released his hand and turned to her plate. "So how did you get Oliver to let us run around chasing fake leads all afternoon?"

"That was the trickiest part," he told her. "He made me promise to clean up two cold case files by month-end."

Andy grimaced. "Yikes. That won't be easy."

"Nope. Wanna help?"

"I guess." She shrugged. "If I have time. I mean, I do have a wedding to plan . . . ."


	2. Chapter 2

**You guys are incredible. You really bowled me over with your lovely reviews for Chapter One. Thank you to everyone for being so wonderful and supportive, as always. In case it wasn't obvious, there is a bit of a wedding theme going on here. Chapter One was the proposal (obviously), and each subsequent chapter services the overall theme in some way or another, leading up to a rather lengthy Chapter 6 conclusion.  
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**Happy Holidays and Happy Reading!**

* * *

><p>"Here. It. Is. <em>Your<em> wedding dress." A perky blonde woman materialized in front of Andy and Traci, making the breathy disclosure with a reverent enthusiasm that seemed comical given that she worked at a bridal shop and probably had at least ten appointments for dress fittings each day.

After posing for a dramatic millisecond to allow them to appreciate the significance of the moment, the woman—Allison, as Andy had come to know her from prior fittings—sailed past them with a large white garment bag draped across her outstretched arms. She deftly maneuvered a pair of strappy four-inch heels around a fitting platform and gilded tri-fold mirror, ultimately disappearing through the open doorway of one of the fitting rooms.

Without moving her lips, Traci muttered, "Are we supposed to follow her?"

"I think so," Andy laughed, taking a final sip of the store's complimentary champagne. She deposited her glass on a nearby table and quickly got to her feet, prepared to follow the dress wherever it was going. By that point, Andy was barely reining in a feverish desire to lay eyes on the contents of the white bag. Her excitement had been building since Allison's call to tell her the alterations were finished and that the store needed her to come in for another fitting. Now, after days of waiting for the "first available appointment," she was within moments of seeing her dress and she tripped happily across the salon for the big reveal.

Glass in hand, Traci trailed behind Andy and together, they crowded into the doorway of the small fitting room. Inside, Allison hung the garment bag on a hook and began carefully unzipping it with all the pomp of an attendant unveiling a coronation gown. Andy followed the zipper's slow progression from top to bottom, stifling a malicious desire to elbow the well-groomed, little woman out of the way and rip open the garment bag herself. She glanced at Traci and saw that her friend's champagne glass was conveniently obscuring the hint of a smile as she, too, watched Allison attempting to wring every conceivable morsel of melodrama and suspense from the moment.

When the zipper finally hit landfall, the bag fell away, landing in a forgotten heap beneath Andy's dress.

"There it is. My wedding dress," Andy sighed, smiling softly at what she saw in front of her. On its tiny hook in the tiny room, it was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen.

With a flourish, Allison began fluffing and straightening, creating the effect of a pint-sized tornado circling around the long, white column of fabric. When she seemed satisfied with the presentation, she stepped back and turned to them, tilting her head expectantly.

"Wow. Wow. That's just, uh, wow," Traci murmured as she scanned the garment with wide eyes.

"Can I try it on?" Andy asked, rubbing sweaty palms against her jeans in preparation for the moment when she'd be allowed to touch it.

"Of course," Allison said, backing into a corner to allow them to enter the room. "It's a beautiful dress. Understated but so, _so_ elegant." She reached forward and ran a perfectly-manicured hand along the length of the bodice. "You're going to look beautiful in it."

Andy looked at her dress and felt—well, she wasn't sure what exactly she was feeling. Emotional, excited, giddy . . . . When she was four, she'd gone through an "I wanna be a cowgirl" phase, and for Christmas that year, her parents had surprised her with a full costume—complete with hat, lasso and red leather boots. In the twenty-five years since then, the overwhelming sense of joy that she'd felt when she opened that present was something Andy had never forgotten. And that was how she felt when she saw her wedding dress. To that part of her soul that craved true happiness and fulfillment, the dress was a symbol of both of those things.

Allison very delicately cleared her throat. "I'll give you some time. If you need help getting into it, let me know. Otherwise, I'll come back and check on you shortly." She slipped past Andy and Traci, easing toward the doorway.

"We'll be fine," Traci said, adding in a small reassuring wave to let her know that they would, in fact, be fine on their own.

As soon as they were alone, Andy whispered, "This is gonna sound terrible, but every time I see her, I have this incredible urge to knock her down and mess up her hair."

"Completely understandable," Traci agreed with a nod.

"No one should look that perfect. Do you think she wakes up with bed head in the morning?"

"Are you kidding?" Traci snickered as she slid Andy's dress off of the hanger. "I'm pretty sure each strand of hair is glued into submission. Soooo . . . are you ready to try it on?" she asked, holding up the dress to keep it from dragging across the floor.

"Oh yeah," Andy heartily informed her, kicking the door shut and yanking off her shirt. She held up her arms and waited while Traci slipped the dress over her head. As it unfurled of its own accord, she felt the cool, silky fabric roll down her body. Wordlessly, she turned her back toward Traci and scooped up her hair, looking over her shoulder as the zipper climbed from bottom to top and the smooth material closed in around her.

With that accomplished, Traci flung open the fitting room door and announced, "Come on, Bride-to-Be. Let's go check you out in front of that big-ass mirror."

Andy lifted the short train off of the floor and followed Traci out of the room toward the fitting platform. Once there, she closed her eyes and stepped up onto it, letting the dress fall around her.

And then she waited.

"Um, Andy," Traci prompted. "You have to open your eyes to see it."

"In a minute. I only get one first look . . . ."

When she felt ready to see it she took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes. Frozen in place, she blinked several times and waited for her own response to what she was seeing. Within seconds, a torrent of thoughts and emotions rushed at her with a furious intensity. Andy steadied her shaking hands and bit into her lower lip, willing herself not to cry. _Get it together, Andy McNally_, she told herself. _Don't you dare turn into a watery mess._

From behind her, Traci said, "Swarek's gonna lose his you-know-what when he sees you in that. Andy, you look _amazing_."

"You think?" she responded, her voice thick with emotion.

"Yeah. I definitely 'think.'" Traci insisted, circling the platform with an appraising eye. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Andy swallowed, gradually reclaiming her composure. "Trace, this is my wedding dress. I'm getting married. To _Sam_. Can you believe it?"

"I do, but only because I saw the box of invitations sitting on your counter this morning."

Andy grinned. "This is actually happening."

"You really do look amazing."

"I _feel_ amazing." Andy moved gently back and forth, appreciating the way the fabric swayed around her legs. "I think I might never take it off."

"That's not really the way this works," Traci said patiently. "Besides, you've got six weeks left until the big day, and I'm pretty sure that dress would stop looking so special after a few days beneath a Kevlar vest."

"What about your bridesmaid dress?" Andy asked, spinning around to face Traci. "Are you gonna try it on while we're here?"

"Um, _yeah_. I just wanted to give you your moment. I'll go find Allison and see if she can get it from the alterations department."

Within fifteen minutes, Traci was wedged onto the platform beside Andy as they surveyed their combined reflections in the mirror. "Well? What do you think?" she asked Andy.

"I think you make a pretty hot bridesmaid."

"Well, I was actually going for 'sophisticated yet fun-loving,' but 'hot bridesmaid' works, too. Feel free to put that beside my name in the program."

"Be careful what you wish for," Andy warned her. "I have the power to make that happen." She stepped down from the platform and looked up at Traci. "That color looks really great on you. Violet sunset . . . ."

"Which is basically a fancy way of saying purple," Traci chuckled.

"Yeah, but it sounds much nicer. What are you wearing for jewelry?"

"I'm not sure yet . . . maybe one of my Mom's necklaces. She offered, so I might take her up on it."

Andy grinned at Traci. "You know, Sam and Oliver are probably having a conversation just like this at the tux shop."

"You can't be serious. You do realize they're men, don't you?" Traci scoffed, earning a hearty laugh from Andy. "I'm sure it's more like, 'This one looks good to me. We'll take two of these. Time for beer, Brother.'"

"I don't know," Andy said, refusing to fully commit to Traci's assessment. "Sam would never come out and say it, but I can tell he's excited about the wedding. I don't see him just blowing through this."

* * *

><p>"How does it look?" Sam asked. He straightened his bow tie and scrutinized his reflection in the mirror with a critical eye.<p>

From behind, Oliver watched him. "I like it, Brother. Just like I liked the first, second, fourth and uh, seventh ones."

"Maybe I should try on the first one again . . . ."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "Was that the one with the grey vest or the black vest?"

"Black." Sam slipped Jacket Number Eight back onto a hanger and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I wanna see that one again."

A tiny smile flickered across Oliver's lips but was just as quickly wiped away by the tactful swipe of his hand across his mouth. "I've never seen you this worked up over what to wear before."

"That's because you've never seen me getting married before," Sam said as he sifted through several tuxedos on the rack outside of his fitting room. Toward the back of the rack, he found the first one he'd tried on when they'd arrived at the store more than an hour before. Lifting it up for inspection, he carried it back into the fitting room and pulled the curtain closed behind him.

"You do know she'll love whatever pick out, right?"

"Oliver, this is what I'll be wearing to my wedding. I need to get it right."

"And you will," Oliver assured him through the curtain. "Take as much time as you need. No rush. We've got all afternoon."

"I actually think this might be the one. I just need to see it one more time."

"Number One was a good look on you."

Sam let out a low laugh. "Bet you didn't know you were signing up for this when you agreed to be the Best Man."

"Hey, I'm here for whatever you need. And if that means spending a day watching you try on clothes, man, I'm on it."

"The thing is . . . ." Sam paused, wondering how to articulate his thoughts in a way that didn't make him sound like a sap. "When it comes to the wedding, basically, I have three assignments. Pick out a tux, show up at the food tasting and make sure the bar at the reception is well-stocked."

"All important jobs, my friend."

"The point is," Sam continued, "this is one of the only things I have to do, and I need to get it right so McNally will know I'm taking all of this seriously."

Oliver laughed loudly, drawing the attention of several other customers in the store.

"What's funny about that?" Sam grumbled from behind the curtain.

"McNally knows you're serious about the wedding."

"Does she?" Sam asked, pulling back the curtain and walking out into the store.

"Yes. Definitely," Oliver confirmed with a nod. "Sammy, she knows you better than anyone. She gets how much this means to you. Besides, two of the three things you just mentioned are food and beer. Some might argue that those are _the_ most important parts of any wedding."

"Huh. And here I thought it was the vows."

"Common misconception," Oliver said, waving off Sam's suggestion. "But we'll just keep that between us."

"Yes, we will," Sam agreed, warning him with a look. "I don't think McNally would like hearing that someone might rank an open bar above our ceremony."

Oliver eyed Sam carefully. "You know I'm kidding, right? I'm actually really happy for you two. I'd even forgo the promise of free beer to watch you and McNally get married."

"I do know that," Sam said, making a slow turn in front of the mirror.

"So how's she handling all of this? Any crazy bride moments yet?"

"Not really. She's been pretty calm."

"Just wait, man. Every woman goes through it at some point. It's hardwired into their DNA."

"So far she's taking it all in stride," Sam said, "which is a good thing because she's pulling the strings on the entire operation. Cake, flowers, seating assignments, invitations . . . most of it's on her."

"And for that we're all thankful. I can only imagine what the wedding would look like if you were running the show."

"Yeah. I'm not much of a daffodils and doilies kind of guy."

"Clearly," Oliver responded with an exaggerated eye roll. "If you were, you'd know daffodils aren't even in season right now."

"See, I didn't know that, which is why I'm glad I have McNally to know it for me." Sam took one final look at himself in the mirror and said, "This is the one. Have you looked for yours yet?"

"Nah," Oliver balked. "You're the main event. I'm just the sideshow."

Sam pointed to a rack of tuxedos nearby. "You won't become Second Best Dressed Man at the wedding without putting in a little effort, so get over there and find something."

"I don't even know what size I'm wearing now," Oliver said as he reluctantly approached the rack.

"Celery's still got you on that diet?"

"Yep. I haven't eaten anything fried or processed for more than a month."

Sam regarded Oliver with obvious skepticism. "How's that working out for you?"

"Good. Good. Really good. Never felt better in my life."

"Two goods and one really good," Sam noted. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No," Oliver sighed. "I'm dying a painful, low-cal death. It's been two months since I've had a cheeseburger. I'm drinking light beer. I'm taking sugar snap peas every morning for my snack. That is not the diet of a man who's doing okay. I love Celery. I really do, but I think she's probably trying to kill me."

"By making you eat healthier? There's nothing wrong with having a little greenery on the table, Oliver."

"A little is fine. I'm okay with a few token vegetables as long as there's a large slab of real food keeping it company on the plate. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a hot dog?"

"If you're asking me to guess, I'm assuming it hasn't been recently."

"Forty-three days," Oliver said automatically.

Sam walked over to his friend and tossed an arm around his shoulders. "Well, the upside is that you've never looked better. Just wait'll you start trying on these tuxes. You'll feel like a brand new man," Sam insisted, picking up a few options from the rack and motioning for Oliver to follow him toward the fitting room. "Come on, Brother. Let's get you suited up. There's a light beer at the Penny with your name on it."

* * *

><p>Andy walked around the platform, looking up at Traci from various angles. Not for the first time, she wondered if her friend might be feeling emotional. Not so long ago, Traci had been planning her own wedding. Now, seeing Andy going through the same experience had to bring back memories of all that had happened with Jerry. It was something that had worried Andy when she initially asked Traci to be her Maid of Honor, but having anyone else at her side simply wasn't an option for Andy or Traci. "Are you doing okay, Trace?"<p>

"Yeah," Traci said. A look of confusion swept across her face. "Oh, you mean because of Jerry . . . ." When Andy only nodded, Traci sighed. "In some ways, it does make me think of him . . . what our wedding would've been like . . . how we would've been as a married couple . . . stuff like that. But I don't want you to worry about me. I'm okay." She hesitated before adding, "This is gonna sound weird, but I kind of feel like he's here with me, standing over my shoulder, watching the two of you getting ready for your big day. And he's really happy for you. We both are."

"Well, if it gets to be too much, it's okay to take a step back," Andy told her. "I'll understand."

"Thanks for saying that. I really am good, though." Traci eyed Andy thoughtfully before issuing an additional reassurance. "Andy, you and Sam deserve this. So I'm choosing to focus on that right now, and it seems to be working out for me, so stop worrying."

Traci twisted her torso, looking over her shoulder at her image in the mirror. "Actually, I could use a little help figuring out who to bring as a date if you're really concerned about me," she suggested.

"Hmmm . . . Steve or Bailey?" Andy arched an eyebrow at Traci as if she'd suddenly been struck with inspiration. "How about Steve _and _Bailey?"

"Oh, sure. That would totally work," Traci said, shaking her head and laughing. "Seriously, though, I've sort of been thinking about coming solo. You know, keeping my options open . . . ."

"Makes sense. I mean, you are the one and only hot bridesmaid."

"Thanks for that, by the way."

"Thanks for what?" Andy asked.

"For not sidling me with a gaggle of fellow bridesmaids. I've been in a few weddings and I can tell you from firsthand experience, bridesmaids can bring the drama and more is not necessarily better."

"I'm actually really glad to hear you say that," Andy said, "because I was worried about putting so much responsibility on you without having anyone else to help out."

"Are you kidding?" Traci scowled in mock displeasure. "Being your Maid of Honor has been a breeze. You haven't even freaked out on me yet and we're getting down to the wire."

"I actually expected to be a lot crazier than this, but I just feel really calm and focused. And why shouldn't I? Everything is in place. All of our vendors are lined up. My dress is ready. I'm officially moving into Sam's house this weekend. There's nothing to stress out about."

"Speaking of the big move, how's the packing going?"

"Finished," Andy answered with conviction. "The movers are coming at nine Saturday morning and with any luck, I'll be shacked up with Sam by five o'clock that afternoon."

"You've been practically living there for months," Traci reminded her.

"Yeah, but now it'll be _official_," Andy said smugly. "His stuff will be permanently rubbing elbows with my stuff."

"Very true," Traci agreed as she stepped down from the platform, allowing Andy to take her place in front of the mirror. "Hey, wasn't your Mom supposed to stop by while we're here?"

"She was," Andy said, pivoting so that she could check out the back of her dress. "She got called away to a conference at the last minute."

"Are you okay with that?" Traci asked slowly.

"Truthfully, I'm more okay with it than I probably should be."

"Well, it is a weird situation."

"It really is," Andy said. "I'm still not completely comfortable around her, and right now, I just want to relax and enjoy this time without the added pressure of feeling like she's judging every move I make."

"Is she happy for you and Sam?"

"I think so. She's still a little frosted with him about the breakup, and he's still skeptical of her level of commitment, so I guess you could say they haven't exactly warmed to each other yet. And that's fine because honestly, she's hardly ever around and I wouldn't exactly say she's a big part of my life anyway. Then, of course, there was this issue last week with the guest list . . . ."

"What happened?" Traci asked. "You didn't tell me she was causing problems."

"Well, she called with a list of people she wanted us to invite to the wedding—a bunch of friends I've never met or haven't seen for twenty years. I told her it wasn't going to work because we're keeping things small."

"Was she okay with that?"

"No." Andy laughed dryly. "But that's the way it is. Sam doesn't want big. _I_ don't want big. It's supposed to be a day about us, and I'm not letting her take control of it."

At the sound of ringing inside of Andy's backpack, she stumbled down off of the platform, lifting her dress above her ankles as she went. Snatching up the bag, she rummaged around until her fingers wrapped securely around her phone. Examining the screen, she smiled and shrugged. "It's the florist." Andy raised the phone to her ear, simultaneously dropping the other hand into her bag and pulling out her wedding notebook. "Gloria . . . hi," she said brightly as she flipped to the divider labeled "Florist."

As the woman on the other end of the line explained the nature of her call, Andy's mood took a rapid nosedive, carrying her smile with it.

"So you're sure no one else can fill in?" Andy asked desperately. Gloria was extremely apologetic, leaving Andy no choice but to utter, "I understand. Thanks for letting me know. Please send me those names as soon as you can."

Andy ended the call, allowing the phone to fall back into her bag. Her empty hand dropped limply to her side and her shoulders slumped.

"I'm guessing that wasn't good news . . . ." Traci said, resting a comforting hand on Andy's shoulder.

"The florist just bailed. She has to go to California. Her mother's sick and she doesn't expect to be back in time for the wedding," Andy responded glumly. "It sounds pretty serious."

"But you have a contract, right?"

"Not really. She's a friend of my Dad's, and it sounds like whatever's going on with her mother is bad."

"To cancel on you this close to the wedding, though?" Traci said with a disapproving shake of her head. "That's not okay, Andy."

"No, it's not, but there's not much I can do about it. She's sending me a list of some other florists who might be able to step in, so hopefully we can get someone else in time."

Traci looked skeptical. "A Saturday wedding in six weeks? That's a tall order . . . ."

"Yeah." Andy felt despondent at the thought of having to scrounge around for a new florist at the last minute. She wanted the time until the wedding to be calm and low key, and having to hunt and peck for a new vendor wasn't part of the plan. "What am I gonna do?"

"Let me call Steve," Traci said suddenly, digging around in her purse for her phone. "He knows a guy who runs a floral supply business . . . ."

Andy dropped down onto the couch, barely hearing anything Traci was saying. She didn't want complications. Simple and meaningful was the goal. Having the florist drop off of their vendor list right before the wedding was anything but simple, and it certainly wasn't meaningful. She groaned and flopped back into the couch cushions, silently cursing herself for tempting fate by gloating about how well everything was going.

* * *

><p>"McNally, you've been quiet for a full five minutes," Sam observed from beside her. His voice sliced through the darkness in the bedroom, hanging loosely in the air as a challenge to her continued silence. He had propped himself up on an elbow beside her and although the vague strip of moonlight across the bed did little to illuminate the room, Andy could clearly see an expression of mild amusement on his face.<p>

"So?" she responded with an obvious edge in her voice.

Sam cleared his throat. "It's weird."

"I've got a lot on my mind," she said, adding a dismissive shrug for effect.

"I can see that." With a drowsy precision, he raked his fingers back and forth across her abdomen, creating a rippling effect as his hand moved beneath her T-shirt. "Is this about the flowers?"

Andy huffed loudly. "I just had this idea in my head about how everything should look, and Gloria really got it. She understood the importance of keeping the centerpieces small. Do you know how frustrating it is when you're at a function and you can't see the people across the table because of some huge flower arrangement?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Sam said in a conciliatory tone that she appreciated all the more because she figured he probably didn't know at all what she meant.

"It all comes down to this . . . it's _our day_, and it needs to be special."

"Andy," he said, tilting her chin up so that she was looking him squarely in the eye. "It'll be special no matter what."

"I know," she conceded. "They're just flowers, right? It's not like the minister cancelled. I mean, we can get married without flowers if it comes down to it. I'm being ridiculous."

Sam hovered above her, offering nothing more than a sly smile.

"This is when you're supposed to tell me I'm not being ridiculous," she pointed out.

"Is that right?" Leaning in closer, he whispered, "Andy, you're not being ridiculous. You're just disappointed. We'll work it out."

"Why don't we just go off alone somewhere and get married? No wedding. No complications. Just you, me and a minister . . . . Sam, we could totally do that."

He pulled back and studied her. Smiling patiently, he said, "You don't really want that, McNally."

"What I want is to be able to focus on the two of us, and I feel like that's getting lost somewhere in all of this."

He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. "I'd marry you right now without a second thought, but that's not good enough. I think you really do want to have our friends and family—the people we love—with us. The last thing I want is for you to wake up one day and regret that you didn't get to have a real wedding."

"If we're married and I'm waking up with you every day, I won't have any regrets," she insisted. "I just want to be married to you. Like, right now." She tapped the mattress beside her for emphasis.

"All the same, I'd rather not risk it," he said easily, leaning down and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Fine," she sighed dramatically, "we'll have the wedding if you really, _really_ want it."

An indulgent grin spread across his face. "I do. I really, really want it."

"Then, I'll talk to Steve's flower guy tomorrow."

"As for focusing on us, I think I can probably help you with that," he said quietly. He lightly brushed the hair away from her face, and his eyes caught hers for a long second before he dipped down and applied several warm kisses to the side of her neck.

"You do?" she asked archly, dropping her head limply to the side and smiling lazily up at him. "What did you have in mind?"

"A little of this . . . a little of that. I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Well, in that case, I'd appreciate _any_ assistance you could offer."


	3. Chapter 3

**This Chapter and the next are my favorites. Of course, people will probably read to the end and say, "Favorite? I don't get it." It's just a personal preference.**

**From looking at the traffic stats, we're a bit of an international group on here, so I thought it worth noting that I'm using the term "bachelor party" because that's the term with which I'm most familiar. If you're used to calling it something different you may want to mentally swap out the words as you're reading.**

**As always, thank you for your incredibly thoughtful reviews. It makes doing this a lot of fun.**

* * *

><p>Andy scanned the assignment board at the back of the Parade Room and scowled. Booking. It was better than running interference at the front desk but only just barely. As the crowd in the room filtered out into the hallway, she sighed and headed toward the door, preparing herself for a day of shuffling low-level thugs in and out of holding cells.<p>

"Any idea where Swarek wants to go?" The question, spoken in a hushed tone by Chris, piqued Andy's curiosity. With a subtle turn of her head, she glanced back to see Chris, Oliver and Dov huddled together near the middle of the room, seemingly so absorbed by what they were discussing that they hadn't noticed she was still there.

Andy slowed her pace, lingering in the doorway long enough to hear Oliver's answer. "Eh, he doesn't care about the details. I say we get out of town. Go someplace where we can all blow off steam without anyone recognizing us as cops."

"What happens at the bachelor party stays at the bachelor party . . . ." Chris noted with an appreciative nod.

Andy casually side-stepped to the right and leaned against the wall just outside the door, hoping to remain within earshot without being seen. As several of her fellow officers approached from the opposite end of the hallway, she stiffened imperceptibly but managed to smile and nod in their direction. _That's right_, she silently urged them. _Just move along. Nothing to see here. _When they returned her smile without stopping to chat, she drew in a relieved breath and melted into the wall again.

As she pressed her ear against the door frame, she heard Dov's voice. "I'll give Edie a call. See if she has any suggestions."

"Great," Oliver said. "So Epstein's in charge of location and entertainment. And Peck said he'd pick up the libations— "

"I can take care of that," Chris offered.

"Thanks, Diaz, but I think your strengths lie in other areas."

"You think I can't handle buying a few cases of beer?"

Dov's response was immediate. "Two words, man. Kosher wine."

"Diaz, why don't you help Epstein nail down a place?" Oliver suggested. "It's more of a two-man job anyway."

"Fine," Chris grumbled.

"Come on, Chris. Entertainment, location . . . that's the main event. It could literally make or break Swarek's bachelor party. I could use some help," Dov insisted.

"All right," Chris agreed, sounding more receptive to the idea. "Could be fun. Where do we start?"

"I'll call Edie after shift, and we'll go from there."

As Andy heard footsteps coming toward her she sprang away from the wall and began walking briskly down the hallway. Her instincts told her to keep moving, but when a quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Dov had exited the room alone, she couldn't resist the urge to confront him and find out what they were planning. Slowing down, she cut her eyes to the left and right, waiting for him to catch up to her.

Within seconds, he appeared in her peripheral vision and she did her best to look surprised to see him, offering a pleasant, if not slightly guarded smile by way of greeting.

"Hey. How's it going?" Dov asked easily, matching her smile with a boyish grin of his own.

"Not too bad, but then again, I'm in booking, so not too great either," Andy said. Feeling impatient and ill-equipped to handle a meaningless round of small talk, she opted for the direct approach instead. "So I saw you talking to Chris and Oliver just now. Looked like a pretty important discussion . . . ."

"Not really," he said mildly, dismissing her suggestion with a shrug. "Just the usual."

"The usual, huh? Just a normal everyday conversation about normal everyday things?"

"Yeah. That's right. You might even call it boring," he suggested.

So denial was going to be his tactic of choice . . . . Without warning, Andy abruptly stepped into Dov's path. Fisting the front of his vest, she steered him away from the middle of the corridor.

"What's going on?" he asked in a heightened tone, looking slightly perturbed as he smoothed a hand down his uniform and made a show of straightening his vest.

"You know what's going on," she insisted, poking him squarely in the chest.

"Ouch. I'm not gonna pretend that didn't hurt."

"Get real." She rolled her eyes. "You're wearing a vest. It's like having an armored car on your chest. Now start talking."

"Talking about what?"

"Why don't we start with Edie, your ex-girlfriend the _stripper_," Andy hissed.

"You know," he began, "stripper's such a derogatory term. They actually prefer to be called dancers."

"Oh, give me a break. You know that's not the point."

Dov looked at her in obvious discomfort. "I don't know what you're talking about," he claimed weakly.

"Look," she muttered, "I may have accidentally overheard you talking to Chris and Oliver about Sam's bachelor party."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know we were talking about Swarek?"

"Are you trying to tell me you're planning more than one bachelor party? Besides, you said his name."

"We may be working on a little something," Dov reluctantly admitted. His eyes darted back and forth, finally settling on her forehead.

"Well, if you're thinking about hiring a stripper, it's a bad idea."

"Who said anything about strippers?" he asked.

Andy tilted her head and glared at him. "You did."

"No. Technically, I just mentioned Edie. You're the one who brought up the subject of strippers."

"Dov, you're supposed to be my friend," she pleaded.

"I am," he assured her. "Hey, I've gotta get going. I'm riding with Gail today, and you know how she hates to wait." He slinked around her and made a hasty retreat.

"_Dov_," Andy called after him in frustration, receiving nothing more than a dismissive wave as he power walked toward the parking lot.

* * *

><p>With narrowed eyes and a curled upper lip, Andy watched Dov and Chris from across the barn, relying on the partial obscurity of a column to keep them from noticing her. Of course, she doubted they would have seen her even if she were standing in plain sight, engrossed as they were by whatever was on Chris' computer monitor. Occasionally, Dov stopped to scribble something on a legal pad before immediately redirecting his attention to the screen. The whole scene involved quite a lot of pointing and animated discussion punctuated by brief spurts of raucous laughter, all of which led Andy to conclude that whatever they were doing was something worth knowing.<p>

"What's going on?" Chloe asked, slipping up behind her.

Andy put up a hand to silence her. "They're up to something," she said quietly, eyeing Dov and Chris suspiciously. "I think they're planning Sam's bachelor party."

"Why do you think that?" Chloe whispered.

"I overheard them talking about setting up the _entertainment _a few days ago, and they seem pretty caught up in whatever they're doing."

"Maybe they're working."

"Pfft," Andy snorted. "Yeah right."

"Okay, so you're trying to smoke out the plan." Chloe nodded in understanding. "Awesome. It's like being a detective—except cooler."

"Have you heard anything?" Andy asked, keeping her eyes trained on Dov and Chris.

"No, but Dov hardly talks to me these days, so I wouldn't exactly say I'm in the loop."

As Andy and Chloe watched, Oliver swooped down from his office. "Epstein, Diaz, I need you," he fired off, waving an arm for them to follow as he stomped away in the opposite direction. Without hesitating, Dov and Chris jumped up and trailed after him, leaving behind an empty cluster of desks.

As soon as they disappeared, Andy approached the desks with an air of nonchalance, letting her eyes rake across the area where Dov and Chris had been sitting. Zeroing in on the legal pad they'd left behind, she quickly snatched it up and waved it in front of Chloe's face. "Look at _this_," she said, shaking the pad for emphasis.

Chloe leaned forward and inspected the piece of paper. "Nice. A list of hot guys. Who doesn't appreciate something like that?"

"No," Andy groaned. "Look at the top of the page—above the names."

"Montreal? I don't get it."

"It's a list of guys going to Sam's party," Andy explained, trying to rein in her impatience.

"Oh. They're going to Montreal. Makes sense."

"Why does it make sense?"

"Duh. Who wouldn't go to Montreal? They've got great strip clubs there." Chloe paused, looking introspective. "But really, I would've thought Swarek was too cool for strippers."

"Please. What guy is too cool for strippers?" Andy laughed bitterly. "Besides, Sam doesn't know what they're planning. It's a surprise."

Andy scrutinized Dov's notes for several seconds. Beneath the names was another list of what Andy suspected were Montreal strip clubs. Memorizing a few of them, she dropped the legal pad back onto Chris' desk and slid into the workstation they'd been using.

As she pulled up an internet search page and started typing, Chloe leaned over her shoulder and read, "Silver Slipper. What's that—_ohhhh_ . . . ." The page materialized, and several scantily-clad women waved at them from a giant bird cage.

"Tasteful," Andy remarked dryly, taking noting that the club was, in fact, in Montreal. She restored the search page and typed in one of the other names from the list.

"Club Siren," Chloe read as the website popped up on the screen. "That one's way better than the other one. Don't get me wrong . . . those girls are just as hot, but they don't seem quite as desperate. There's more of a 'you come to us' vibe."

Andy closed out of the website and stared at the screen, trying to quash the images that were ruthlessly bombarding her. _Montreal. Strip clubs. Naked women. Sam at Montreal strip clubs watching naked women . . . or worse . . . . _She shook her head furiously in a futile attempt to clear the thoughts from her mind.

"Andy, what's wrong?" Chloe asked.

"Nothing."

"You've got that same look my cousin Mary used to have right before she got carsick," Chloe informed her. "We'd go on these crazy long road trips when we were kids and I mean, _no one_ wanted to sit beside her, so I usually volunteered because I felt sorry for her. I got pretty good at recognizing the look because it meant I had anywhere from three to five seconds to move as far away as possible."

Having heard almost nothing of what Chloe had just said, Andy turned away from the screen and grumbled, "This sucks."

"The strip club thing bothers you," Chloe deduced.

"_Yeah_. Wouldn't it bother you?" Andy snapped.

"Probably," Chloe conceded, "if Dov and I were still in that place. As it is, thinking about him out at a strip club is the least of my worries. At least if he's ogling some stripper, I know the odds aren't great that he'll be falling in love and making babies with her." She frowned but quickly replaced it with a reassuring smile. "But I totally see where you're coming from. Why don't you just talk to Swarek about it?"

"No way," Andy said vehemently. "I can't be _that_ fiancée."

"Which fiancée is that?" Chloe laughed.

"The insanely jealous one who can't even think about her future husband in a roomful of strippers without losing her mind," Andy whimpered.

"Seems like a natural reaction." Chloe shrugged. "Just talk to him."

"I can't," Andy explained, squaring her shoulders. "Because I want to be the incredibly cool fiancée who just rolls with it all. And anyway, it's supposed to be a surprise, so if I mention what I know, I'll ruin it for him."

"Good point," Chloe noted.

"I'm just going to put it all out of my head and not let it get to me. In a couple of weeks it won't matter anyway."

"It's worth a try, I guess . . . . If you think you can handle it."

"What choice do I have?" With a defiant jut of her chin, she said, "I'm just not gonna let it bother me."

* * *

><p>"Cabin rules . . . ." Oliver announced as the guys filed into the room and stood in an awkward clump near the couch. "The master bedroom belongs exclusively to me. Under no circumstances will I share a bed. If the toilet won't flush, jiggle the handle and knock on the side of the tank twice. No touching anything with magical properties, and no cell phones," he said, dropping his own phone into an empty paint can and holding it out for everyone else to follow suit.<p>

"Really? We're doing this again?" Chris asked.

"In the bucket, Diaz," Oliver insisted, shaking the paint can at Chris. "You, too, Epstein."

"Fine," Dov said. "Don't have anyone to call anyway."

"That's the spirit." Oliver slapped him heartily across the back. As Chris and Dov relinquished their phones, Oliver looked at Steve and Frank expectantly.

While Steve reluctantly dropped his phone into the bucket, Frank held up his and said, "I'll let you hold onto mine, but at seven o'clock, I'm getting it back. Gotta call Olivia to say goodnight."

"Fair enough," Oliver agreed. "I think we can all respect that. All right, Sammy, Man of the Hour. You're up." Oliver shook the paint can at him.

"Not a chance," Sam responded with obvious disinterest, keeping his hands tucked securely in his pockets.

"Come on, man," Oliver persisted. "You're the Guest of Honor. Hand it over."

"Oliver, why do you need my phone?"

"Cabin rules."

"What does that even mean? Are they written down somewhere?"

"Yeah. In my head," Oliver assured him. "Phone in the bucket. We don't want you being tempted to make contact with McNally."

"No thanks." Sam shrugged. He leaned down and flipped open the lid on the cooler Steve and Frank had carried up from the car. Reaching inside, he rummaged around and retrieved a cold beer. "Got a bottle opener?"

Oliver regarded Sam blankly, still holding out the paint can as Dov leaned over to Chris and loudly whispered, "Awkward."

Oliver must have decided he was fighting a losing battle because finally his shoulders dropped and he said, "Second drawer down in the kitchenette."

"Hey, if the phone thing is optional . . . ." Chris began, edging toward Oliver and the paint can.

"Nope. Don't even think about it, Diaz," Oliver said, whisking the can away. He opened up a cabinet and shoved it inside, slamming the door closed with gusto. Looking around the room, he clapped his hands eagerly. "Okay. Beer in one cooler. Steaks in the other—thank you, Epstein," he said, saluting Dov.

"Actually, it's 'thank you, Artie Spinero,'" Dov explained. "He's the old guy who runs the meat shop down the street from our building. Used to have a thing for Chloe back when we were, uh, together. I guess he still associates me with her because he always puts aside the best cuts for when I come in."

"Well, then, thank you Artie Spinero and Chloe Price, for the meat we will surely enjoy," Oliver said. "Who wants to man the grill?"

* * *

><p>"This is what it's all about," Dov announced, linking his fingers behind his head and reclining against the back of the chair. "Steak, beer and poker. Just a group of real men hanging out doing manly things."<p>

"Epstein, how many of those have you had?" Steve asked, pointing to the half-empty bottle of beer at Dov's elbow.

"A few," Dov admitted, "but who's counting? I'm just a guy enjoying a manly-man weekend in the wilderness. No women. No accountability. No one to shut me off."

"I'm shutting you off," Frank intoned, "before this gets any weirder."

"Doesn't matter," Dov said. "I don't need beer. I'm on a natural high. Best I've felt in a long time. It's good to get away for a while and just focus on the things that really matter."

"What would those things be?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow, assuming that a mildly-intoxicated Epstein might have some interesting insights to share with the group.

"The simple things. No distractions. From now on, I only want uncomplicated in my life."

"Well, good luck with that," Oliver laughed. "If, by 'distractions,' you're referring to a certain pint-sized brunette without a filter, I'd say the odds of keeping it simple are pretty slim."

"Nah," Dov claimed, waving away Oliver's statement. "I've told her we're done. She knows it. It's over. With her, it was always one complication after another. Enough is enough."

"Listen, Epstein," Sam said. He rolled his eyes at what he was about to say but forged ahead nonetheless. "Relationships are messy, and people come with baggage. They make mistakes. The best you can do is enjoy the good times and try to work through the bad stuff together."

"He's right, man," Chris agreed. "You can't choose who you love."

"Whose side are you on?" Dov asked Chris.

"Whichever side gets you to stop dragging around the apartment like someone just kicked your puppy."

"I don't have a dog," Dov said sullenly.

"Epstein," Sam continued, "you need to stop wallowing and try to be happy. If Price makes you happy, don't waste your opportunity."

Oliver chuckled. "Sounds like good advice. Seems like I've heard something like it before."

Sam tilted his beer toward Oliver in silent acknowledgement as shades of their conversation from Frank and Noelle's wedding ran through his mind.

With a resentful eye, Dov glared at Sam. "Wallowing, huh? You'd know about that better than anyone," he muttered.

"I do know," Sam said, "which is why I'm telling you to cut the crap. Now can we please drop the touchy-feely and play some poker?"

"I second that," Frank said.

"Motion carried," Oliver declared. "For a guy who doesn't like distractions, Epstein, you're really messing with my concentration."

* * *

><p>Sam's eyes wandered to the clock on the wall, watching as its hands crawled drowsily toward midnight. He scanned the other faces at the table, noting that they were all in various states of inebriation. While the others had been wearing down the floorboards between the cooler and the poker table, he'd been nursing the same beer for the better part of an hour, hoping no one would notice. He fully intended to empty the other guys' pockets by the end of the night, and staying reasonably lucid seemed like the best way to further that goal.<p>

"So, Sammy," Oliver began in a voice that had the rough edges of a man who was up two hours past his bedtime. As he examined the cards in his hand, he let out a small self-satisfied snort. "How was McNally when you left to come up here?"

Sam looked up from his cards, eyeing Oliver curiously. "She was fine. Why?" He could only assume the question was part of some strategy designed to throw off his concentration.

Oliver concealed a yawn behind the cards in his hand. "We were just messing with her when we were putting this thing together . . . trying to make her think we were taking you somewhere else."

"Where did she think we were going?" Sam asked, staring at Oliver as he thought back to Andy's fairly intense goodbye kiss. And she had been sort of punchy for the past few days. She wasn't so out of sorts that he felt the need to say something about it, but she hadn't exactly been herself either.

"She probably thinks we went to Montreal to check out some strip clubs," Chris said smugly, grinning as he raised a beer bottle to his lips.

"Why would she think that?" Sam asked, sitting up straighter.

"Let's just say we left some pretty obvious clues," Dov confirmed. "And she may have overheard me saying that I was going to talk to my ex Edie to ask for some recommendations."

"She seemed pretty freaked out," Chris laughed. "She didn't say anything to you about it?"

"No, she didn't," Sam responded in a controlled tone. He knew that probably wasn't a good thing. It meant that she was stewing about it and when Andy was keeping something bottled up, it was bound to explode. "I don't suppose anyone happened to mention that I specifically requested no strippers?"

"Sorry, Brother. I don't think that came up," Oliver informed him.

"Well, thanks. Thanks a lot," Sam said dryly. He shook his head slowly as his mouth settled into a tight smile. "I don't think you thought this through very well."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chris asked uneasily.

"It _means_ that I wouldn't want to be any of you when McNally finds out that you played her. For now, though, I think I'll just take all of your money at poker and be satisfied. If you want to just hand it over to me that'd be fine or, you know, we can keep playing if you prefer . . . . Doesn't really matter because the end result will be the same." He nodded resolutely at the table and adopted an expressionless demeanor as he rededicated himself to the goal of sending them all home empty-handed.

Steve raised a hand and cleared his throat. "I'd just like to point out that I wasn't actually involved in any plans to mislead your fiancée."

"Yeah, me either," Frank added.

"Hey, man," Oliver protested, looking at Frank in mild surprise. "How 'bout a little solidarity?"

Sam stared at Oliver in disbelief. "Solidarity, huh?"

"Oliver, if your ship is sinking," Frank said, "I don't wanna be on it. Sammy, just focus your revenge right over there." He gestured in the general direction of Dov, Chris and Oliver.

"Duly noted," Sam agreed with a menacing smirk.

* * *

><p>Sam propped up his feet on the porch railing and relaxed back into the weathered rocking chair. He'd been casually sipping the same bottle of beer for a while, enjoying the silky slide of the warm amber liquid each time he swallowed. Other than the moonlit lake and an ample supply of stars up above, the darkness settled in around the porch as if a thick, gauzy veil had been drawn up around him. Normally, he preferred the nocturnal rhythms of the city—restless silences punctuated by intermittent car horns and whiny police sirens—but something about the less encumbered stillness surrounding the cabin was also strangely comforting. Occasionally, he'd hear a grunt or snore from below and he'd remember that somewhere between the cabin and the lake, Epstein and Diaz were passed out in the tent they'd pitched earlier that evening.<p>

Sam drew in a long, slow breath, feeling no great rush to let it go again. He was experiencing a new ease that he hadn't known during his first visit to Oliver's cabin. The first time he'd been there, he certainly hadn't been in a position to give Epstein relationship advice. Back then, he'd been a complete wreck himself, only just realizing exactly how far off course he'd gotten. Courtesy of a succession of incredibly bad decisions, he'd managed to steer his life to that place where he'd thought he _should_ be only to realize that he would never actually be happy or satisfied there. He'd known then that McNally was "it" for him, but that alone was a grim realization because along with it came the recognition of how badly he'd screwed up. To see his future so clearly and know that he might never actually have it had left him feeling empty and depleted.

The contrast between past and present certainly wasn't lost on Sam. Being back at Oliver's cabin and remembering how hopeless he'd felt during his last visit brought him a fresh appreciation for the dramatic turn his life had taken in such a short period of time. What had once been wrong was now unbelievably right. Sam silently thanked whatever benevolent force had given him a second chance. He only hoped he could never be accused of not making the most of it.

Fishing his phone out of his pants pocket, he checked the time. Two o'clock in the morning. Probably too late to call McNally. Still, he was feeling pretty desperate to hear her voice. Without further thought, he typed, _Are you awake?_

Within a fraction of a second, his phone rang and Andy's name flashed across the screen. Sam was more than a little bit relieved that no one was around to see the eager grin that consumed his face. Lifting the phone to his ear, he pressed the button and, in the coolest tone he could manage, said, "Hope I didn't wake you up."

"You didn't," she said with a heavy sigh. "I was just, you know, doing a little light cleaning."

"McNally, it's after midnight."

"You don't need to tell me that," Andy said in a clipped tone. "I couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts in my head . . . ."

In the background, Sam could hear the furious back and forth motion of steel wool on metal. "Are you cleaning the oven?"

"Yeah," she grunted as the scrubbing sound became louder and more persistent.

"Since when does cleaning the oven count as 'light cleaning?'"

"Since I noticed how disgusting it was," she responded dismissively. "When was the last time you cleaned this thing?"

"Let's see . . . how about never?"

"You've _never_ cleaned the oven? See, I knew it," Andy blurted out. "We should've kept my place instead."

"You know you don't mean that," Sam laughed. "My house is bigger, and you love the closet space."

"True," she conceded, "but that was before I realized how dirty the oven was."

"This isn't the first time you've used the oven. It was just as dirty yesterday."

"I know," she admitted with a sullen edge. "It's the first time it's bothered me, though. So I'm taking care of it." As the sound of metal scraping against metal dissolved into another burst of intense scrubbing, Sam cringed.

"Andy, what's really going on?" he asked cautiously.

The scrubbing stopped. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Well, something," she acknowledged, "but it's really nothing."

"Something that's really nothing. Makes total sense." He smiled, picturing her overreacting and exacting her frustrations out on his—_their_—appliances. "Does this have anything to do with my bachelor party?"

Ten complete seconds of silence answered Sam's question. Finally, Andy asked, "Are you having fun?"

"Yeah. Normally, this really isn't my kind of thing, but I'm having a pretty decent time. I could get used to this," he admitted, leaning back further in the chair as he looked out at the generous smattering of stars in the sky. That was something you definitely didn't see back in the city.

"Oh yeah?" Andy responded in a tone loaded with sarcasm. "I'm glad you're having so much _fun_."

Sam smiled. He was enjoying baiting her, but he didn't want to take it too far. He imagined she'd already worked herself up into quite a state before he called. "McNally, where do you think I am?"

"It's a bachelor party, Sam. I think I can fill in the blanks by myself."

"Suit yourself," he said breezily, "as long as Oliver's cabin goes in one of those blanks."

"Hold on. You're at _Oliver's cabin_?"

"Yep. Big front porch, nice lake views, starry night sky, Epstein and Diaz passed out in a tent down below . . . . Where did you think we were?"

"Um, well, it's a bachelor party, so I just figured . . . you're really at Oliver's cabin?"

"Yes," he laughed. "It's been a pretty good night. Steak, beer and poker."

"Poker. That's what you've been doing all night?" she asked, sounding unconvinced and more than a little bit frustrated.

"Won some money for the honeymoon fund," he boasted.

"Is that right?" Sam could hear an unwilling smile creeping into her voice. Later, when she wasn't so tired, he might tell her that the guys intentionally misled her but knowing McNally, she'd probably already have it worked out in her head by the time she finished her first cup of coffee the next morning.

"So what're you doing now?" Andy asked. "Seems kind of quiet."

"They're all asleep," he explained. "I just wanted to see how your night went."

"It was a little crazy," she admitted. "But it's better now."

"Good. Are you still cleaning the oven?"

"No, I'm back in bed," she said quietly. "So you're actually enjoying being out in the woods?"

"Yeah. I guess I am. We should borrow this place from Oliver sometime. Take a few days off, get out of the city and just relax."

"Mmmm. That sounds nice." He could tell she was fading.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon?" Sam asked.

"I'll be here. G'night," she mumbled. "Love you."

"'Night, McNally. Love you, too."

Before he could end the call, though, Andy said, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for calling."


	4. Chapter 4

**I feel like I write something like this at the beginning of every chapter, but it's still true, so I'll say it again. Thank you to everyone for the incredibly nice comments. You guys are truly fabulous, and I appreciate your supportive words.**

**There's a blurb in here about Gail and Nick's first breakup. I've always been kind of fuzzy about exactly what happened there, so I hope the two or three lines that are dedicated to them make sense. **

**Happy New Year and thanks again for reading!**

* * *

><p>"Red or white?" Traci yelled to Andy from the kitchen.<p>

"White." With a steady hand, Andy swept the mascara wand along the length of her eyelashes and scrutinized her handiwork in the mirror, checking for clumps. "And only half a glass," she added as an afterthought.

"Too late," Traci said, grinning as she appeared in the doorway to her bedroom with two very full glasses of Chardonnay.

"I was hoping to pace myself," Andy groaned. "The goal is to make it through the night with most of my dignity still intact."

"What kind of bachelorette parties have _you_ been attending?" Traci scoffed. "In my experience, if the bride's not hanging over a paper bag at the end of the night, you can't really call it a success."

Andy narrowed her eyes. "I'm pretty sure you're kidding, but part of me is still kind of freaked out by what you just said."

Traci set a wine glass on the bureau beside Andy and settled herself on the end of the bed, drawing her legs up underneath her. "Don't worry. Whatever happens, we've got your back."

"Which basically means you'll make sure I get home okay, but if I look like an idiot along the way, you probably won't stop me," Andy surmised.

"Exactly," Traci said, raising her glass in affirmation. "But you left out the part where we all remember every embarrassing thing you do and tease you about it later."

"As long as there are no cameras . . . ."

"Andy, there's _always_ a camera."

"Great," Andy said unenthusiastically, hoping it was clear that she thought it was anything but great. "So what did you do with your Mom and Leo? You didn't kick them out because of me, did you?"

"Kind of. My Mom took Leo and one of his friends to the movies. She figured we'd have an easier time getting ready without him hanging around."

"That was nice," Andy reflected, tilting her head to the left as she screwed on the back of her earring. "Hey, I keep meaning to thank you for hooking us up with Steve's flower guy. He called in a favor with one of the florists he knows, and they were able to squeeze us in. Their work is amazing and the price isn't bad. It all came together a lot easier than I expected."

"All I did was pick up the phone and beg. Steve's the person you should be thanking."

"Already done," Andy informed her. "I bumped into him at the station yesterday. I told him I owed him one for bailing us out . . . offered to clean his apartment . . . wash his car . . . bring him coffee every morning for a year . . . ."

"So what did he want?"

"Nothing. He said we'd call it even if I'd put in a good word for him."

"You've gotta admire his persistence," Traci said. "I mean, it's almost enough to make me completely forget about the stuff with Dex."

"He did come through for us in a big way," Andy pointed out. "And he's really got it bad for you. Other than the fact that he's related to Gail, there's not a whole lot working against him."

"I know," Traci agreed. With a small smile, she confessed, "I met Bailey for coffee last week."

Andy raised her eyebrows, eyeing Traci in the mirror. "_Really?_ How did that go?"

"Good . . . I think. I don't really know him that well, but I like what I'm seeing so far."

"He's had a crush on you for a long time," Andy said.

"You knew?"

"Of course, I did. It was pretty obvious. How did you _not_ know?"

Traci giggled. "He's got that whole 'strong, silent vibe' going, you know? I guess it just never occurred to me that there might be something underneath it other than friendship."

"Well, if Bailey's taking you out for coffee dates, where does that leave Team Steve?"

Traci sipped her wine thoughtfully. "I don't know. I like both of them, so I'm still working it out. And it was only _one_ coffee date, by the way."

"Not an easy decision," Andy said. "They're both pretty great."

"No kidding. Just don't let me add anyone else to the list tonight."

"I'll try my best, but you can't stop true love."

"Hah. If true love is the goal, there's not much chance of finding that where we're going," Traci told her smugly.

"Where are we going, by the way?" Andy prodded. Every time she'd asked the question, it had been greeted with a vague "we'll see," and not knowing the plan was giving rise to a considerable amount of anxiety on her part. "And don't you dare say 'we'll see.'"

"All right, all right . . . . It's no big deal, really. We just thought it would be fun to keep you guessing. We were thinking about trying Ice—that new club that opened up a few months ago. They've got a huge dance floor and half-price shots 'til midnight."

"Discount shots," Andy said with a laugh. "Can't say no to that. Not to mention that we've made four arrests there in the past two weeks, so you know the place must be good."

"Yeah. The line's usually around the block. _But_," Traci added, holding up an index finger, "I think we've come up with a workaround."

"Which is?"

"Juliet."

"Juliet is the workaround?" Andy asked, furrowing her brow in confusion.

"Her cousin's a bouncer there. He's gonna let us skip the line."

"Nice." Andy nodded appreciatively as she thought of 15's newest cop. They'd only worked a few cases together, but from the little Andy knew about Juliet, she seemed fairly genuine and down-to-earth.

"She said she'd meet us out front a little after ten," Traci explained, "so whenever Gail and Chloe show up, we'll head out. The car should be here soon."

"There's a _car_," Andy said, looking suitably impressed.

Traci shot her a look of mock scorn. "Of course, there's a car."

"Well, now that I know the plan," Andy said, taking a small gulp of wine, "I should say thank you for not dragging me out to a strip club."

"Don't thank me," Traci laughed. "Thank your fiancé. He paid me a hundred bucks not to."

Andy choked on her wine. "_Seriously_?" she sputtered.

"Seriously," Traci confirmed, chuckling to herself. Her phone beeped and she looked down at the screen. "It's Gail. She's on her way up. Are you almost ready?"

"Yep. I'll be out in a second," Andy said as Traci got up from the bed and headed out into the living room.

Andy finished putting on her lipstick and tossed the tube onto the dresser. Skimming her fingers through her hair, she decided to call it good. After all, the only person she really cared about impressing wasn't even going to see her.

From the living room, Andy could hear Chloe's excited chatter mingling freely with the caustic undertones of Gail Peck. Smiling to herself at what had the promise of being a fairly interesting night, she shut off Traci's bedroom light and went out to join them.

Chloe was in the process of hoisting a large shopping bag onto the couch, and when she saw Andy, she sang out, "Are you ready for a night out with the _lay-days_?"

"I think so," Andy admitted hesitantly as she cautiously absorbed the impact of Chloe's unrestrained exuberance. "Did you two ride over together?"

"Um, _no._" Gail offered Andy her best "are you kidding me" look. With an acidic sweetness, she said, "Why don't you let Chloe show you what she has in her bag?"

"What is it?" Andy asked warily.

Without any further prompting, Chloe turned the bag upside down and dumped it out on the couch. When a plastic tiara spilled out and landed on a pile of feathers and beads, Andy shook her head emphatically, issuing a firm, "No way."

"Come on, Andy," Chloe insisted. "You've gotta wear the 'stuff.' It's tradition." Chloe dug into the pile, freeing up several neon-colored feather boas and a sash with "Bride to Be" stamped across it in hot pink letters. She bounced up and down enthusiastically, casually tossing one of the feather boas at Gail.

"Not a chance," Gail informed her, quickly stepping out of the way as it floated toward the ground and landed harmlessly at her feet.

"Who wants to wear the lips?" Chloe asked, holding up a plastic button shaped like a pair of lips. She flipped a switch on the back, and they blinked rapidly.

When there were no takers, she huffed, "_Come on_, guys. This is supposed to be fun."

"I'll wear one thing," Andy finally conceded, taking note of Chloe's crestfallen expression. She quickly snagged a candy necklace off of the couch, figuring it was the least embarrassing item in the pile.

"Candy necklace," Chloe commented, rallying quickly. "Good choice."

"I'll take that," Traci said, grabbing a shot glass on a string out of Chloe's pile. "You never know. Might come in handy."

"Now we're talkin'," Chloe chirped. She wrapped a bright purple feather boa around her neck and seemed satisfied. Smiling innocently at Gail, she held up the blinking lips and said, "I'll have these in my pocket if you change your mind."

Gail sneered at Chloe. "I need you to promise _not_ to sit beside me in the car."

Laughing to herself, Traci herded them toward the door. "And we're off," she announced as she pulled the door closed behind them.

* * *

><p>"First shot of the evening. That's what I'm talkin' about," Chloe yelled in appreciation when she saw their waitress headed toward them with five glasses balanced on a small tray.<p>

"Line 'em up right there." Traci tapped the high-topped table as the waitress lowered the tray and slid the glasses onto the table without spilling a drop. Traci nimbly divvied them up and then raised her own glass. "Here's to getting drunk enough to give Andy the night out she deserves but not so drunk that we don't remember it all tomorrow." Five glasses were raised in unison and emptied of their contents within seconds, landing back on the table with a collective thud.

By the time the waitress returned with a fresh supply of drinks, their table was starting to attract attention from several random guys lingering nearby.

"Uh-oh. Incoming," Andy muttered through clenched teeth, smiling tightly at the sight of a blond guy in his late twenties homing in on Gail.

Gail moaned dramatically when she realized he was coming for her. At the last second, she forced an icy smile as Andy elbowed her in the ribs and hissed, "_Be nice_."

"Can I buy you a drink?" the guy asked, leaning casually against the table top beside Gail.

Gail raised her glass to her lips and stared pointedly at him over the rim. "I'm good, but thanks," she responded in a subtly patronizing tone that Andy recognized well.

"I'm Seth," he said, seemingly undeterred by the refusal of his drink offer.

"Don't bother," Gail informed him in a bored tone. "You're not my type."

"What's your type? I can be your type," he said with confidence, and Andy had to give him credit for his persistence in the face of Gail's rather chilly reception.

"I doubt that." Gail licked her lips and offered him a saccharine-sweet grin. "Can you be a woman?"

Dropping his eyes to a point of great interest on the toe of his shoe, Seth stammered, "Uh, no. I, um . . . I mean—"

In a show of mercy, Gail sighed. "Relax, Shane—"

"Actually, it's Seth," he clarified, scratching the back of his head as he raised his eyes to Gail's and then quickly looked away again.

"Whatever. Here's the thing . . . you seem like a decent guy. You're moderately attractive and you had the stones to approach a table full of women without a wingman. You're just barking up the wrong tree. You should try her," she said, pointing at Chloe. "She's single and looking. _She'll_ be your type."

Looking mildly confused, Seth reluctantly switched his attentions to Chloe. Clearing his throat, he stammered, "Um, do you, uh, wanna dance?"

"Sure. I mean, why not? We're here to have fun, right?" she giggled nervously, taking a swig of her drink. "I'm Chloe, by the way."

As Chloe disappeared into the crowd, Gail said, "I think I deserve a finder's fee."

"Maybe they'll name their firstborn after you," Traci suggested. Turning to Juliet, she said, "Don't pay any attention to Gail. Underneath the rough edges, she's not as bad as she seems."

Gail glared at Traci. "Yeah, I'm just a big softie."

Andy folded her arms on the table and smiled at Juliet. "So how do you like working at 15 Division?"

"It's not too bad," Juliet admitted. "I still feel like the new kid, though."

"We _all_ still feel like the new kid," Traci assured her.

"But it's gotta help that you've been together since you were rookies, right? You must know each other pretty well by now."

"A little too well sometimes," Andy said. "Of course, Chloe and Nick are newer and they managed to find a place for themselves, so you will, too."

"Nick didn't start out with the rest of you?" Juliet asked.

"No." Gail snickered. "He was a stray. Showed up unannounced one day and begged us to take him in."

"Gail," Andy sighed. "There's some history there," she said to Juliet, nodding toward Gail.

"And _there_," Gail added, pointing back at Andy.

Juliet wrinkled her brow uncertainly. "You've both dated him?"

"Yeah. Long story," Andy told her.

"Not so long, actually," Gail said. "Nick and I were together. He broke up with me and joined the Army. A few years ago he showed up at 15, and we got back together. Then, he dumped me again for her."

"Oh," Juliet said as her eyes skipped from Gail to Andy. "But you're still friends with each other and with him . . . ."

Gail seemed to be considering Juliet's question. "Would you say we're friends?" she asked Andy suddenly.

"Would you?"

"Not really."

"Yeah, me neither," Andy laughed.

Gail's phone beeped and she picked it up, smiling at whatever she read on the screen. "I'll be back."

"Look, Nick's a great guy," Andy said as soon as Gail was out of earshot. She didn't care for the tone Gail had set. From watching their interactions, Andy had her suspicions that there might be something brewing between Juliet and Nick, and she didn't want to interfere with that. "Things with Nick and Gail were complicated. I don't actually know the full story there, but they've both moved on, and they both seem happy."

"Yeah, don't listen to Gail," Traci seconded.

"What about you and Nick?" Juliet asked Andy. "What happened there?"

"That actually _isn't_ a long story," Andy informed her. "Nick and I dated for, like, an hour. Things just didn't work out with us."

"Because of Sam?" Juliet prompted.

"Yeah, because of Sam," Andy said, unable to suppress a grin. "But Nick and I were friends before and we're back to that again. There aren't any lingering feelings there, so I hope you won't let what Gail said affect your opinion of him."

Juliet shrugged. "I don't really have an opinion. He seems like an okay guy. Beyond that, I'm not sure it really matters."

"All the same," Andy said with a complicit smile, "he really is a decent guy and hypothetically, if someone were, you know, _interested_, he's one of the good ones."

"Understood," Juliet said as a look of understanding passed between them. "So you and Sam . . . I've heard a lot of people saying it's about time."

"Really? They're saying that?" Andy asked, finding it interesting that anyone beyond their immediate circle of friends would actually care enough to gossip about her personal life.

"Of course, they're saying that," Traci said from across the table. "You two have been circling each other for years. It is _definitely_ about time."

"There were a few bumps along the way," Andy explained to Juliet, "but it was worth the wait."

"Well, you two are really cute together," Juliet observed.

"Ugh. Don't tell him that," Andy said. "Sam doesn't do 'cute.'"

"Sure he does. He just doesn't realize it."

"Exactly . . . which is why it's best to keep it that way." Andy's eyes traveled from Juliet to the dance floor where Chloe was frantically waving at them. "Uh, guys, I think Chloe's angling for a rescue."

"And another refill," Traci noted as Chloe latched onto a nearby waitress and placed what seemed to be a fairly complicated drink order.

"What do you think she just ordered?" Andy asked curiously.

"By the looks of it, two Screwdrivers, a Kamikaze and a Whiskey Sour." Traci chuckled, pushing away from her stool. She turned toward Andy and Juliet. "Coming?"

"Sure. All for one and one for all," Juliet said. Downing the rest of her drink, she stood up and followed Andy and Traci toward the dance floor.

* * *

><p>An hour later, after being elbowed repeatedly and sweated on by an overabundance of strangers—both male and female—Andy decided it was time to take a break from the crowded dance floor. Juliet had gone out front to talk to her cousin, and Gail was hovering around their table looking disagreeable enough to ward off all but the most oblivious suitors. So as one heavy techno song transitioned to the next, Andy leaned toward Traci and Chloe and asked, "Anyone want anything from the bar?"<p>

"Wouldn't say no to a shot of tequila," Chloe announced loudly as a pair of muscular forearms slid around her waist from behind. She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged, leading Andy to conclude that her good judgment had gone down with her third Jell-o shot.

Andy eyed Chloe uncertainly. Inclining her head toward Traci, she said, "I think I'm gonna order her a shot of water instead."

"As long as it comes with a slice of lime, I doubt she'll even notice."

"You'll keep an eye on her, won't you?" Andy confirmed.

"Yeah. I'm on it," Traci assured her. "Make sure to put whatever you order on my tab, though. The future Mrs. Sam Swarek isn't paying for drinks tonight."

"Got it," Andy said, smiling appreciatively. She gave them a small wave and headed for the closest bar, weaving in and out of small enclaves of people on her way across the crowded room.

At the bar, Andy waited beside a grinning red-head in her early twenties who giggled nervously every time the bartender looked her way. Concealing her mouth behind her hand, she leaned toward Andy and said, "The bartenders here are gorgeous, aren't they? This one in particular. He's _yummy_." Andy decided that the girl must be just drunk enough to believe she was whispering, although her voice was clearly audible to anyone within arm's reach. The upturned corners of the bartender's lips told Andy that he'd heard her, too.

Andy smiled politely at the girl, acknowledging that she did have a point. He wasn't unappealing—tall, dark hair, blue eyes that undoubtedly worked to his advantage when women started reaching for their purses to leave him a tip. There was something about his manner that told Andy he'd probably seen almost everything that could go down in a club like Ice and most likely found humor in it as a result. He slid the girl's drinks to her, and she edged away from the bar, looking over her shoulder and blushing as she went back to the table she was sharing with her friends.

"That was embarrassing," he admitted, rubbing a hand across his chin self-consciously.

"Yeah, must be rough having random girls admiring you all the time," Andy observed wryly.

"Not as much fun as you'd think," he noted as he wiped a cloth across the silver-topped bar between them. "What can I get for you?"

"A vodka and cranberry. Oh, and a glass of water."

"Not a problem," he answered with an easy smile, glancing at her periodically as he mixed her drink. "Having fun?"

"I am, actually," Andy confirmed, noting that the guy seemed nice enough. He had the added bonus of being one of the few sober people in the packed-out club, which she found refreshing after an hour of being bumped and jostled around a slippery dance floor.

"One water. One vodka and cranberry," he said, sliding two glasses in her direction. "On the house."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

He planted his hands on the bar and leaned on them, nodding slowly as he looked down at her and grinned smugly.

"Okay, then. Thanks."

"Josh," he said. When Andy looked at him in confusion, he elaborated. "My name."

"Oh. I'm Andy."

"You here alone, Andy?"

"No. With my friends. It's my bachelorette party," she explained, looking over her shoulder at their table, where an incredibly bored-looking Gail was examining the fingernails of her right hand. While Andy watched, a guy walked up to her and rested his hand on the back of her chair. In response, she twisted her lips into a scowl and hitched a thumb in Chloe's direction. With barely a second's hesitation, he turned toward the dance floor and immediately set his sights on Chloe.

"Your friend's got an interesting approach," Josh noted.

"She just has discriminating taste. Sifts through the pile to find exactly what she's looking for and throws the rest back," Andy said as she sipped her drink.

"Not a bad idea. A little sifting's always a good thing—especially around this place."

"I can only imagine," Andy agreed as she watched Gail's castoff approaching Chloe.

"You gonna be here for a while?" he asked slowly, leveling a questioning glance at Andy. With a smooth hand, he slipped a cocktail napkin off of a small stack in front of him and scribbled something on it before sliding it across the bar toward her. "I get off in a couple of hours . . . . You could give me a call later if you wanna hang out."

Andy looked down at the napkin, surprised to see his phone number scrawled on it in black ink. With her left hand, she slid the napkin back across the bar, aiming a pointed stare at her engagement ring.

The bartender followed her gaze and chuckled. "Come on. Don't let that stop you from having a little fun."

"You've got to be kidding," Andy said in disbelief. "This is _my_ bachelorette party. I'm _engaged_."

"Let me share something with you, Andy." He smiled conspiratorially and leaned toward her. "I've been bartending for years, and you're not the first bachelorette who's landed at my bar. You know what I've learned?"

Andy forced a neutral expression onto her face. She had a feeling she really didn't want to know what he'd learned.

"Sometimes ladies like to blow off a little steam before the big day. Sow their wild oats, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, well, I don't have any oats," Andy responded flatly. If what he'd said was true, Andy really didn't like what it said about the institution of marriage. She knew she and Sam were different, though. The day she met Sam, he'd lit a match in her heart, igniting a steady blaze that had been keeping her warm ever since. And although she knew from experience that it was possible to be relatively happy with someone else, Sam was the only man who could ever make her feel truly fulfilled. To even consider being with someone else when she had him was so far removed from her reality that she could only balk at Josh's suggestion and wonder why any woman would want to spend time with another man on the eve of her wedding. Then again, she thought, people married for different reasons and maybe everyone wasn't fortunate enough to find what she had with Sam.

Josh smiled calmly and shrugged, crumpling up the napkin and tossing it aside. "Can't blame a guy for trying. Your fiancé's a lucky man."

"No, I'm the lucky one," she tossed back at him as she turned and walked back toward her friends, determined not to give Josh or anyone like him another thought.

Gail looked up as Andy approached the table. "Go save Chloe from that freak you just sent her way," Andy said impatiently. "Her judgment's clearly impaired."

"Fine," Gail huffed, "but you're coming with me."

Andy knocked back her drink in an instant and dropped the glass on the table, following Gail out to the dance floor with Chloe's water.

* * *

><p>"Can you do three stops?" Traci asked the driver. She slammed the passenger door and settled back in the seat. Behind her, Andy and Gail had wedged in on either side of Chloe.<p>

"Not a problem," the guy responded. "Did you ladies have a good night?"

"Yeah," Traci confirmed, looking over her shoulder at Chloe. "Maybe a little too good."

Chloe dropped her head against the seat, smiling lazily at Traci. "Was the best," she drawled.

"Thanks, guys," Andy spoke up. "Tonight was fun. I can't remember the last time I danced that much."

"_Lots_ of dancing," Chloe repeated, sounding suddenly sad. She sighed heavily as her head drooped against Andy's shoulder.

Andy frowned. "Chloe, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Her voice cracked, and she let out an unmistakable sniffle.

"Are you _crying_?" Gail asked in a voice dripping with unconcealed disdain.

"No," Chloe whimpered as the tears started to roll.

"Stop the car," Gail said suddenly. "I'm walking the rest of the way home."

"Not a chance," Traci piped up from the front seat. "You helped her get this way, and you're gonna help me get her home."

"It's not my fault she's a lightweight," Gail grumbled, slumping against the door and pulling her phone out of her pocket.

"It's not Gail's fault," Chloe sniveled. "I miss Dov. All night I was dancing inappropriately with strange men, and I just kept thinking that I should've been dancing inappropriately with _Dov_," she blubbered. "I thought he'd come around eventually, but it may never happen. And that means," she sniffed, "I'm gonna be by myself forever. Like one of those women who never marries and dies alone."

Andy chewed on her bottom lip to keep from smiling. "You mean a spinster?"

"Yeah, a spinsterer," Chloe choked out before succumbing to a bout of hiccups.

"That won't happen," Andy assured her.

"It's a possibility," Gail muttered without looking away from her phone, "if I kill her right now."

"How was your night, Trace?" Andy asked abruptly, hoping to shift Chloe's focus to something that involved fewer tears.

"Not bad," Traci said in a guarded tone. Andy had seen her talking to several guys and had personally witnessed her collecting at least two phone numbers.

"You got some digits . . . ." Andy teased her.

"Yeah. I'm not sure if I'll call either of them, but it was kind of fun to be the hot, single girl without a kid at home for one night. Helped me forget about my own man troubles."

"Boo hoo," Andy laughed. "Two men want me. Whatever _will_ I do?"

Behind her hand, Gail coughed out, "Go with the detective."

"Well, for tonight," Traci said firmly, "I'm gonna go home, put on my flannel PJs and snuggle up with my little man. And just to be clear, that's Leo."

Gail's phone beeped and she glanced quickly at the screen, producing a small smile in response to what she saw.

"Tell Holly hi," Andy said from the other side of the backseat.

"You don't know it's Holly," Gail said. "I happen to know a lot of people."

"You're trying to tell me it's someone else?" Andy countered.

"Yeah, okay. It's Holly. You're right as usual." Gail rolled her eyes as she typed a quick response.

"What's going on with you two anyway?"

"Nothing's going on. She's in California, and I'm here. End of story."

"Except it's not, and you know it," Traci insisted.

"I don't do distance," Gail told them.

Andy looked at Gail from across the car. "Then why have you been texting with her all night long?"

"She's coming into town for the wedding, and I told her I'd pick her up at the airport. That's all."

"That's a lot of texting just to coordinate a simple airport pickup," Andy noted, waggling her eyebrows at Gail. "Sounds interesting . . . ."

"Well, it's not."

"Jus' emit it," Chloe mumbled. Her eyelids were half-closed, and her head bobbed against the back seat each time the driver hit a bump or a pothole. "She's coming to see you, Gabe."

Gail scowled. "Who's _Gabe_?"

Andy smiled faintly at the exchange, turning her head to look out the window. When she realized where they were, she leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Can you stop, please? I need to get out here."

"Why?" Traci asked as the driver pulled over. Then, taking note of their surroundings, she groaned, "Lame."

"I just wanna see him," Andy pleaded.

Traci's response was unequivocal. "Andy, you can't finish off the night at home with your fiancé."

"Says who?"

"Says everyone," Gail said. "You're staying at Traci's."

"She's right," Chloe murmured. "S'a rule. Can't go home after the bachl'rette party."

"Besides," Traci said, "I told Leo you'd be staying over, and he has big plans for the two of us to take him out to breakfast."

"Be serious, Traci. It's two-thirty in the morning. Leo won't even know I'm not there, and I promise to come by tomorrow to hang out," she said, preparing to sweeten the deal with ice cream if necessary.

Traci sighed loudly. "Fine, but I'm picking you up for breakfast."

"What time were you thinking?" Andy asked uneasily, eyeing her watch.

"Noon. Maybe one o'clock."

"Oh. I should be up by then. Call me when you're ready to go," Andy told her as she threw open the car door. "Thanks again. I had a really great time tonight. We shouldn't wait so long to do another girls' night."

"'Night," Chloe said drowsily. She slumped against Gail, receiving an immediate shove in the other direction.

"Tell Sam we said hi," Traci called as Andy slammed the car door and began the short walk home.

* * *

><p>Andy slipped into the house, allowing the door to click into place behind her as a heavy silence welcomed her home. Light from outside filtered through the front windows, elongating the shadows that stretched across the floor and ceiling. For Andy, the heady stillness of nighttime had always brought her a sense of calmness, almost as if the interlude between one day and the next provided its own protections from the outside world. At night, she could just relax, choosing to disregard her daytime worries if she felt so inclined. And more recently, she could enjoy her nighttime existence with Sam, which made the time even sweeter.<p>

As she crossed the living room, Andy smiled to herself, tugging off her shoes and shedding her jacket along the way. Sam had left their bedroom door partially open, and she was able to slide through without being treated to the imposing creak of the hinges in the otherwise quiet house. Slowly, Andy approached the end of the bed and took in the sight of Sam. In the midst of a tangled mess of sheets and blankets, he was sprawled out on his back with his arm slung across his eyes, giving one the impression that he'd gone to war with his bed linens until finally, he'd passed out from the exhaustion brought on by the struggle. With an amused expression, Andy made a quick decision to sleep in her shirt and tossed her pants aside. Gently, she pressed one knee into the mattress before embarking on a catlike ascent up the bed in an attempt to be as unobtrusive as possible. Her progress was fast and smooth, furthering her goal of slipping into bed unnoticed. As she curled into Sam and slipped an arm across his chest, she yawned happily at the thought that she was exactly where she wanted to be.

From behind Sam's arm, Andy heard a grunt, followed by a muffled, "Hey."

She raised her head and looked at him as he dropped his arm. "You're awake," she observed in surprise.

"Unfortunately," he mumbled in ragged voice. "How was your night?"

She pulled herself up on top of his chest, resting her head on her hands and staring at him happily. "It was good," she sighed. "Missed you, though."

"It looked like you were having a pretty good time."

With a relaxed smile, Andy said, "Traci told me she sent you a picture."

"She did," he confirmed, reaching over to his nightstand and sliding his phone into his hand. He quickly flipped to a picture and held up the phone for Andy to see. She squinted at the screen, seeing herself on the dance floor in the middle of a pack of guys. When she returned her gaze to Sam, he was wearing a dry expression that clearly communicated how much he did _not_ love the picture.

"That's the picture she sent you?" Andy laughed, leaning down and kissing him briefly on the lips. Examining the screen, she explained, "That was a group of soccer players in town for the weekend. Jake, Bill, Ryan and um, Marshall?" As she said each name, she pointed to one of the faces in the picture. "Nice guys."

He responded with a "hmph." In his eyes, Andy saw the faintest glimmer of doubt, and she knew that as much as he might pretend otherwise, a part of him had been bothered by the idea that she might be out having a good time with other men.

"Sam, I'm _kidding_," she assured him quickly, rubbing his chest for emphasis. "Those were just some guys who jumped into the frame when Traci was flashing her phone around taking pictures on the dance floor. I don't even know who they were, and I didn't dance with any of them. Truthfully, all night long I really just wanted to come home and see you," she confessed, adding, "Traci says I'm lame."

"You are," Sam said quietly as a vague smile appeared, "but luckily, I kind of have a thing for lame women." He ran his hand along her cheek, sliding it into her hair and pulling her toward him. Kissing her once and then again, he rubbed his lips over hers in a gentle teasing motion, all the while flipping open the first few buttons of her shirt.

"What's this?" he asked suddenly, fingering the candy necklace.

Andy looked down at her chest and wrinkled her nose. "Chloe showed up with a big bag of stuff that she expected me to wear. It was either this or a pink feather boa."

"Wise choice," he agreed, rolling the candy between his fingers. "So what's the deal with this thing? Men have to eat the candy off of the string?"

"Yeah. That's the general idea."

"So how many guys had a go at it?" Sam asked, squinting in the dim light as he inspected the string around her neck. "I see a few gaps here."

"None."

"None?" he asked skeptically. "McNally, you're telling me no one offered to eat your candy?"

"Oh, there were offers," she assured him, walking her fingers up his chest. "I just told them my fiancé was the only man who was allowed to suck candy off of my neck."

"Why are so many pieces missing?" he challenged her, sounding unconvinced.

"It was a long night." She shrugged. "I got hungry."

Sam shook his head and leaned forward, snagging the necklace between his teeth. "Not bad. Citrusy," he noted as his head sank back into the pillow.

Seemingly mollified by her explanation, he slowly rolled her over onto her back and returned his attentions to her shirt, snapping open the last few buttons. When he undid the last one, he let his eyes roam over her exposed skin. With a flick of his hand, he parted the shirt and peeled it back, skimming his knuckles down her side and across her abdomen with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Leaning down, he applied several hot, moist kisses to her lips before undertaking an unhurried progression down her neck. When he grazed her shoulder with his teeth in passing, Andy lifted her head off of the pillow and looked at him. "Did you just bite me?" she laughed.

"Just a small nibble," he whispered. "Won't even leave a mark." He raised his head and looked down at her shoulder, grimacing slightly. "Well, maybe a small one." He brushed his lips across the tiny red mark. It was barely visible but there nonetheless, like a monogram applied to something cherished and valuable.

Andy wrapped her arms around his upper back and gently tugged him down to her. Automatically, he responded by smoothly shifting his efforts to her mouth. As his lips closed over hers, he tightened his arms around her possessively, and Andy felt the muscles in his upper back contract beneath her hands. He seemed to be reassuring himself, and her, that they were solid and unbreakable and that no man but him would ever touch her again. It was an assurance Andy was happy to give him because she felt the same way. She locked her legs around his waist and drew him in even closer.

Against her lips, he muttered, "No more bachelorette parties. No more Marshalls, Ryans or whatever the hell they call themselves."

"Only Sam," she breathed out in a dreamy tone.


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter was the first thing I wrote when I started this story, and from there, it ballooned into what it is now.  
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**Thanks so much for your encouraging reviews. This is a really great group of people, and it's fun to write for you guys. There's one official chapter left after this one, but I'm considering adding a bonus chapter because I have a few fragments that I cut from the final chapter. I might try to put them together somehow and toss them out as a Bonus Chapter 7. I'm not 100% about that yet, though, so don't hold me to it. :)  
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* * *

><p>Andy surveyed the wall of satin and lace with a discriminating eye. Not entirely satisfied with what she saw in front of her, she did a slow three-sixty, scanning the lingerie store to check out its other offerings.<p>

"Maybe I should decide on a color first," she suggested. "That might help me narrow down the choices."

Traci regarded Andy with a mirthful gaze. "You act like this is the first time you've done this."

"Sam likes black," Andy said absently, fingering a black lacy creation that was hanging beside her on a rack, "but I feel like black might send the wrong message for the wedding night."

"How about red?" Holding up a particularly racy, red number, Traci purred seductively, earning a raised eyebrow from the sales clerk. "Sorry," she said, stifling a giggle but still managing to look sufficiently contrite as the woman returned to the shelf of camisoles she'd been organizing.

"I'm worried about black sending the wrong message, but you think red is somehow better?"

"Andy, why are you stressing about this? You won't be wearing it very long anyway."

"It doesn't matter," Andy insisted, shaking her head to emphasize her point. "We're only gonna have one wedding night. It should be special."

"Okay, then," Traci reflected. "How about something champagne-colored or white?"

"I'm not saying black's off the table, I just want to think about—" Suddenly, Andy spun around to face the back of the store and froze. One hand shot out from her side and grasped Traci's forearm desperately. "It's my _Dad_," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Where?" Traci smoothly swept her head to the left and right before looking back at Andy in confusion.

"Out _there_. On the bench in front of the store. Don't look."

Ignoring Andy's warning, Traci discreetly glanced over her shoulder at Tommy McNally.

"I said _don't look_," Andy reminded her in a loud whisper.

"Please," Traci laughed. "Telling someone not to look at something is like setting up strobe lights and dancing around it in a circle." She chanced another look over her shoulder. "What's he doing out there?"

"I don't know," Andy whimpered, "but it doesn't look like he's in a hurry to leave. I think he's reading a magazine."

"I'm guessing from your reaction that you don't want to go out and say hi," Traci observed.

"Trace, he's my _father_."

"So that's a no?"

"Of course it's a no. I'm in a lingerie store buying . . . _lingerie_," she said as her shoulders drooped.

"They sell pajamas, too."

"It's a week before my wedding. I don't think he's gonna believe I stopped in here to buy pajamas. He's a detective." Andy bit off the last few words, treating Traci to a look of pure misery.

"It's not like you're a sixteen-year-old girl out buying something to wear for a Friday night hook up with her boyfriend," Traci reasoned. "You're a grown woman. Andy, you're not doing anything wrong."

"I know, I know . . . . It's just really embarrassing. Let's say you stumbled across an adult version of Leo in the condom aisle at the drugstore. Are you telling me you wouldn't feel uncomfortable?"

"Good point," Traci acknowledged. "Okay. What do you want me to do? Should I try to distract him while you sneak out?"

Along with Traci's suggestion, Andy was forced to process the relatively absurd image of what she might look like slinking out of the garishly pink store. "No," she sighed. "I'm being ridiculous. Let's just go out there and get it over with."

With a considerable amount of trepidation, she turned around and began a slow march toward her father with Traci in tow. As she trudged over to the bench where he was sitting, he didn't immediately notice her approach, and Andy briefly considered taking a hard right and making a fast escape. Just as the thought entered her mind, though, Tommy raised his head and smiled at her.

Andy responded with a tiny, awkward wave, watching as his eyes swept from her and Traci to the store behind them. When pink splotches suddenly bloomed along the back of his neck and his earlobes darkened to a deep red, Andy knew he was most likely regretting his unfortunate taste in benches. Fortunately, Tommy rebounded with the swift adaptability of a single Dad who's well-acquainted with the challenges of raising an only daughter. Clearing his throat, he stood up abruptly and closed the magazine, conveniently averting his eyes from the storefront.

"Hi, Dad," Andy greeted him somewhat sheepishly.

"Hey, Kiddo. Traci," he said with a nod. "Doing some shopping?"

"Just picking up a few things," Traci offered weakly, adding an uncomfortable laugh to the mix.

Andy grinned at Tommy. "So what're you doing here, Dad? You do know this isn't the library, right?"

"Yeah, I know. Amy's looking for a dress to wear to the wedding, and you know how that goes. I made it through two stores with her and finally realized the best place for me was out here on this bench. Do you two wanna get some coffee?"

"Sure. I could use a cup of coffee," Andy admitted with a shrug, looking at Traci for affirmation.

"Why don't you two go and I'll meet up with you in a few minutes," Traci said. "I need to run down to the toy store to get a present for one of Leo's friends. Lego Movie birthday party," she explained without much enthusiasm. "I usually keep a stash of gifts on hand for these things, but my supply is dwindling. If I don't pick up something, Leo's friend _Brian's_ getting a Holiday Barbie."

"Poor Brian," Andy said with a grimace. "Just call me when you're done, and we can finish our shopping."

As Traci headed down the mall in the opposite direction, Andy and her Dad began a slow walk toward the food court. "I thought Amy already had a dress," she reflected.

"She did." Tommy's face settled into a mild frown. "She changed her mind."

"What was wrong with it?"

"Nothing. It looked great, but she started second-guessing it and decided to go in a different direction." Tommy sighed. "She probably wouldn't want me to say anything, so don't tell her I told you any of this."

When Andy nodded in agreement, he continued. "She's nervous because your mother's gonna be at the wedding."

"Oh," she responded, thinking that Amy wasn't the only one. Even Andy didn't feel completely comfortable when her mother was around. "About that . . . you know Mom's bringing her new boyfriend, right?"

"Makes sense," he said evenly. "I'm bringing a date. Why wouldn't she?"

"It's not gonna be a problem is it?" Andy asked carefully, trying to gauge her father's reaction. It was something she'd been meaning to discuss with him and although the opportunity hadn't presented itself in the most ideal way, she was glad for the chance to address the issue.

"Andy, your mother and I are both adults. Surely we can handle being around each other for one night."

"Technically, it's two nights," Andy corrected him. "Don't forget about dinner the night before."

"_Two_ nights," Tommy amended. "And then my little girl will be a married woman."

"That's the plan," she said simply.

"Are you ready?"

"To be married to Sam?" she laughed. "Yeah, I'm ready, Dad. So . . . you got any words of wisdom for me?"

Tommy chuckled. "Maybe you should be the one giving _me_ advice."

"Come on. You're telling me you've got nothing?"

Tommy looked thoughtful. After some hesitation, he finally said, "I guess my only advice would be to try and remember that nothing in life is perfect. Living with another human being isn't always easy. One minute everything might be all roses and ribbons, and the next minute it can get really hard. You wanna be the person who sticks in there during those hard times. Anyone can do roses and ribbons, but the person who will listen to you tell the same bad joke over and over again and still wants to be with you, that's the person who truly cares about you. That's the person you want by your side." Tommy stopped and looked at her as a wistful smile emerged. "Your mother and I weren't so good at the hard stuff, but I have a feeling you'll do a lot better than we did."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because you and Swarek have weathered some bumps together, and I'm pretty sure you've already figured out most of what I just told you."

Andy smiled faintly. "Thanks, Dad. I hope you're right."

Tommy sighed, looking at her fondly. "You know, your mother and I made a lot of mistakes but you were never one of them. You might be the only good thing that came out of our marriage. I just wish I hadn't made such a mess of things after she left. I put too much on you, and it wasn't fair."

"You did the best you could," she assured him. "It wasn't easy on either one of us when she left. If nothing else, I always knew you were there, and that was consistent."

"I don't know if I'd call it consistent," he said with a wry smile.

"I always knew you loved me, Dad. That was never inconsistent. And in the end, that's what I remember most."

"Promise me one thing, Sweetheart," he said. When Andy looked at him expectantly, he continued, "Learn from your parents' mistakes and do a better job than we did. Even when times get tough, try to remember what brought you together in the first place."

"That's some pretty good advice," she conceded. "I love you, Dad."

Tommy dropped an arm across her shoulders and pulled her against him, muttering, "Love you, too, Andy."

* * *

><p>Sam heard the familiar smack of the front door against the frame, and he experienced that same jolt of enthusiasm that he got every time Andy came through it. As he tossed some salad in a bowl, his pulse quickened and his mouth twitched, fighting a battle between wanting to smile and trying to play it cool. After more than a month of officially living under the same roof, he still got excited whenever she walked through the front door. Above all else, he liked knowing that when she came in, she was actually <em>home<em>. She wasn't leaving to go over to her place and do laundry or buy groceries, and if she did go somewhere, she was coming back.

He heard some scuffling in the foyer and imagined she was probably removing her shoes, which was confirmed when he perceived the sound of a pair of socked feet padding down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Seconds later, Andy leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms as she grinned at him and said, "I like coming home to you."

"That's good because I kind of like having you around," Sam admitted.

"Kind of?" she scoffed. As she scanned the kitchen and her eyes landed on the collection of mixing bowls and utensils in the sink, she furrowed her brow. "You're making dinner?"

"Sure. Why not? We have to eat, right?"

"Yeah, but you worked all day. We could've gotten takeout."

"McNally, this kitchen is the most under-utilized room in the entire house. I figured it was about time we took it out for a test drive to see if it actually works."

"Need some help?" she offered, tossing her jacket on the back of an empty chair as she crossed the room toward him.

When Sam felt Andy's arms slide around his waist from behind, he smiled and glanced back at her. "Nothing left to do," he informed her as she stood on her toes and looked over his shoulder. "Dinner's in the oven, and the salad's almost finished. How was shopping?"

"Not bad. Kind of weird, though." She settled her head into the space between his shoulder blades and sighed. "We bumped into my Dad while we were shopping for lingerie. I ended up getting coffee with him, and things got kind of deep."

Sam dropped the salad tongs into the bowl and focused his full attention on what she was saying. "Why were you at the lingerie store?"

"That's the part you heard?" He felt the vibration of Andy's muffled laughter against his back.

"Hey, I'm a guy. If you tell me a story that involves your father and lingerie, do you really think I'm gonna focus on your father?"

"I guess that would be expecting too much."

"So what did you buy?"

"Nothing, actually. My Dad interrupted us, and then he and I went to get some coffee at the food court. By the time he took off, Traci had to leave to pick up Leo."

"Remind me to thank Tommy for that the next time I see him," Sam grumbled, dumping a bowl of tomatoes into the salad.

"You're gonna complain to my Dad because he distracted me while I was trying to buy lingerie? How exactly would that conversation go?" she challenged him.

"I don't know. I'm still working it out in my head." In reality, what he was working out was how to rid his mind of the very distracting image of Andy in something black and lacy.

"Well, don't let it weigh you down too much because we're going back tomorrow afternoon, and I know for a fact that my Dad has a dentist appointment."

"Good to know," he said, still struggling to suppress a visual of Andy in something tiny and possibly transparent. Sam shook his head, forcing the images from his mind as he asked, "So how's Tommy doing?"

"Not too bad. He was waiting for Amy to try on dresses, so he had some time to kill. I guess she's nervous about being around Mom at the wedding. And he didn't say it, but I think he is, too. You know, divorce really makes things awkward. Graduations, weddings, any major life events . . . they're never quite normal."

"Andy, they're all adults. I think we can count on them to be on their best behavior."

"I know," she agreed. "It's still weird having them all there together, though. Sometimes, I just wish we were a regular family."

Sam turned around to face her. Tilting his head to the side, he asked, "Who says you aren't?"

"Gimme a break," she sighed. "There's nothing about either of our family situations that's regular."

"That depends on your definition of 'regular.' You and I both see a lot of stuff on the job, and you know people's lives can be really messed up. Everyone has baggage."

"I know," Andy huffed. "It's just that things between them are so messy . . . . And I keep thinking that there must've been a time when they were actually good together, you know? _Something_ had to make them want to get married in the first place. How do you go from wanting a lifelong commitment with someone to basically loathing their existence?" she wondered aloud before adding, "I just don't want that to ever be us."

"It won't be," he responded immediately and with conviction. On that point, he was convinced, and he didn't want her to have any doubts about it either.

"At the end of the day, I don't want to look back and see what a mess we made of everything when it all started out so well."

"Andy, we're not our parents. And we have a leg up on all of them because we have a chance to learn from their mistakes."

"That's actually pretty similar to something my Dad said," she told him.

"Tommy's a reasonable guy. I'm a reasonable guy. Makes sense that we'd have the same thought." Sam ran his thumb along her jaw line, nudging her chin upward. With one week to go until their wedding, the last thing he wanted was Claire and Tommy's failed relationship hanging over their heads. "We don't know what the future holds, but we'll figure it out as we go, and we'll try to do a better job of it than they did."

"You think so?" Andy smiled tentatively, and Sam could see some of the uncertainty fading as she said, "'For better or worse,' right?"

"That's what they say. We'll just hope for the 'better' part but try to be prepared for 'worse,' too," he said. "Just in case."

"Maybe we should have the minister add that to the vows," she suggested.

"Why not? It's a pretty profound thought, don't you think?" An alarm went off on the stove and they turned their heads in unison to face the source of the noise. "That's the ten-minute warning for dinner. I think you should probably prepare yourself, McNally, because it looks as good as it smells."

As Sam leaned over to turn off the timer, Andy sniffed the air curiously. "It does smell pretty good. What is it?"

"A recipe I got from Oliver. It's this casserole he makes for the girls when they're at his place. Apparently, kids love it."

"Is that right?" she asked, settling her legs between his again as he leaned back against the counter and wrapped his arms around her. Issuing a playful challenge with the tone of her voice, she said, "A _kid-friendly_ casserole . . . ."

"That's what he tells me."

"So did he say how many kids it'll feed?"

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek, making a real effort to keep his smile at bay. "I don't know. Three. Maybe four?" he said cautiously. His intuition told him they were probably talking about more than just a casserole at that point. The subject of kids was one they'd never discussed with any specificity. Sure, they'd talked in general terms about having a family, but beyond that, he really didn't know how many and what kind of time frame Andy anticipated. Occasionally, he wondered if she'd given the subject as much thought as he had. More than anything, though, he just hoped he hadn't freaked her out by alluding to it with his comment about the casserole.

Sam watched Andy's face as a slow smile grew into a sly grin and she said, "Three or four, huh? Seems like a good number." She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"You think so?" If her expression was any indication, they _definitely_ weren't talking about casseroles anymore. Sam scanned Andy's face, trying to get a read on what she was actually thinking.

"I do. I always wanted brothers and sisters when I was growing up. It was just me, you know, and it was kind of lonely. So yeah, I think three or four would be ideal."

Hearing her express her thoughts about their future offspring went a long way toward appeasing that part of Sam's psyche that had been wondering whether she'd given any real thought to what their future beyond the wedding actually looked like. "So you actually think about that kind of stuff?"

Andy chewed on her bottom lip. Emitting a small laugh, she said, "I'm a woman, so, yeah. Since I was, like, six-years-old."

"And you think about it with us?" he persisted.

She shrugged, seemingly considering her answer. "Well, before you, it was always in more general terms, I guess. But I'd say you've definitely been a part of the picture for a while now."

Sam zeroed in on the part of her answer that interested him most, licking his lips as he asked, "So there's a picture?"

"_Yes_," she laughed. "Of course, there's a picture. And don't you dare ask me what it looks like."

"Why not? Shouldn't I know about something if I'm a part of it?"

Andy groaned. "Fine. But don't freak out, because you asked for it." She warned him with a stern look.

"Hit me. I can handle it," he assured her, moving closer so that their noses were within an inch of each other.

She glanced down into the tiny space that remained between them and swallowed, making him wonder if she might be nervous. "Okay, so we've established that three or four kids is sort of a goal . . . . I think we should probably wait a year or two, though, because it seems like we need some time with just you and me before we add to our number. Maybe we can start off with a dog to get our feet wet," she said. "Then, there's the matter of the house, because a family of five or six is gonna need a lot more living space than we have here. We've got a few years before we have to start thinking seriously about that, though. Of course, these are just my thoughts," she stammered, eyeing him uncertainly. "I mean, you might have different ideas about things . . . ."

"Is that it?" he asked, realizing she'd actually put quite a bit of thought into it and wondering why that should surprise him.

"Well, I could probably keep going, but I think that's enough for now."

"There's more?" He smirked at her.

"Ohhhh yeah. There's more," she affirmed. "Kids' names, family vacation spots, mental lists of the best neighborhoods for raising a family . . . . Have I freaked you out yet?"

"No," he chuckled. "I'm just surprised you've put so much thought into it."

"Really?" she chided him. "You didn't think I had a plan? How long have you known me?"

"Well, you never said anything about it . . . ."

"I didn't wanna scare you," she admitted.

"You didn't scare me." Sam dropped a firm kiss on her lips.

Andy pulled back, narrowing her eyes at him as she examined his face. "Are you sure?"

"McNally, I'm the one making the kid-friendly casserole. So no, it doesn't scare me," he said, figuring she probably needed to hear the same reassurances he'd been looking for from her. "I think about it, too. And we're getting married in a week, so we probably should be talking about this stuff to make sure we're on the same page."

"Are we? On the same page, I mean?"

"Same page. Same paragraph. Same sentence, even. Except maybe the kids' names. I doubt we'll agree on those."

"We'll see . . . ." She kissed him lightly and then a little less lightly, ultimately taking him to a place where he could barely remember his _own_ name, let alone what he'd want to name any of their hypothetical offspring. Wrapped in Andy's tight embrace in the warmth of their kitchen, Sam was completely content. And quite honestly, he was feeling pretty close to perfect about the prospect of sharing a future with her. When the oven timer went off, Andy giggled against his lips. "That would be the kid-friendly casserole."

Sam dragged himself away from her with no small amount of reluctance, snatching up the oven mitts that were sitting on the counter beside the stove and slipping them onto his hands.

"You know, I kind of like seeing this side of you," Andy observed as he opened the oven and pulled out their dinner. "Trading recipes, making casseroles, doing the domestic thing . . . ."

He stared at her, not liking the direction of the conversation, because it was taking him to a place where he didn't want to go—a place that might involve him wearing an apron. "So what names are on your list?" he asked in an attempt to distract her.

"Um . . . ." She looked up at the ceiling as if she were calling forth a mental list. "Emily?"

"Like Emily Starling?" Sam asked suddenly. That was a name he hadn't expected to hear.

Andy nodded. "Maybe. That was the first time we really connected, you know, so there's some history there."

"Okay. What else?"

"Candace, of course."

"Makes sense. Reminds me of insurance, though."

She scrunched up her nose. "I know, right? We'll just kick that one to the bottom of the list."

"So these lists . . . where do you keep them?"

"They're in my head."

"Are we talking about a three-ring binder or a manila folder?"

"Definitely a three-ring binder," she informed him smugly. "With dividers."

Sam raised both eyebrows at her.

"Scared yet?"

"Nope."

"Good. Because I've got big plans for you and me, Sam Swarek. _Big._"

"Okay, now I'm a little scared."

"No you're not," she laughed.

"No I'm not," he agreed easily. In the past, the thought of Andy mapping out their future might have scared him, but now, he was more than ready to accept any plan she laid out as long as she was including him in it. "So what other names are on the list?"

"Well, for boys' names, there's Sam, naturally. And Thomas, Evan, Oliver, Ethan and um, Max. And for girls—"

"Maggie."

"Sure," she said, looking at him in mild surprise. "That's a good one."

"It's my mother's name," Sam offered.

"How did I not know that?"

"Because I never told you." Since the big reveal about his father, they'd talked more about the rest of his family, but he'd never actually mentioned his mother by name, and Andy had never asked. That was the nice thing about McNally. She was good at pushing him when he needed to be pushed but seemed to know when to give him some breathing room, as well.

"We'll put that one at the top of the list. Feel free to make any other suggestions you want. It's your list, too," she pointed out.

"Well, then . . . how about Beth?"

"And Emma."

"Helga."

"Helga? Sam, is that a joke?"

"No," he laughed. "Helga Swenson was my high school math teacher. All the guys had a crush on her. There was actually a _waiting list_ to get into her class. When she was running after-school detention we all tried to screw up just to land a spot in her room."

"I'm assuming her popularity didn't have much to do with her being an amazing teacher."

"Not exactly . . . ."

"Yeah. Helga won't be making the list," Andy said firmly.

"Okay . . . Bertha."

"_Brunhilda_," she countered, letting the name roll off of her tongue slowly.

"Gaylord."

"Wolfgang."

"Chartreuse."

"Sam, that's not a name. It's a color."

"Who says? Put it on the list, McNally."

"I'm revising my previous statement. It's a closed list now."


	6. Chapter 6

**Sigh. This chapter is the official end. I do plan to add an addendum, which will consist of some cuts I made from this Chapter, but the actual story ends here. This is a long one, by the way, so don't say I didn't warn you. :)**

**Thanks for following along and for being so amazing. Whether you've reviewed, followed or favorited (not sure if that's an actual word), thank you for your support.**

* * *

><p>"Hey, McNally. What's up?"<p>

"Oliver?" Andy responded sharply. "Why are you answering Sam's phone? Is something wrong?"

"Nope. Not a thing," he assured her immediately. "Just making sure you two don't break the 'no contact' rule."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not supposed to have any contact before the wedding," Oliver explained as if he were reading from a manual. "I would've thought you, of all people, would be acquainted with that particular tradition."

"We're not supposed to _see_ each other before the wedding. There's no rule about talking on the phone," Andy informed him haughtily.

"Eh. It's kind of a grey area. So if it's all the same to you, let's just play it safe on this one."

"Oliver," she groaned, "just let me talk to Sam."

"Sorry, McNally. Not gonna happen . . . ."

"How do I know he's even there?" she demanded. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Hey, hey . . . relax. He's definitely here, and everything's fine."

"So you say . . . ."

"Andy," Oliver said sternly. "I'm talking on his phone. Of course, he's here."

"Prove it."

"Prove it?" he chuckled. "Sammy, she doesn't believe you're here. Why don't you tell me something only she would know."

"Ask him how I like my burgers," Andy said tersely.

"Sam, how does McNally take her burgers?" Oliver sighed. After several seconds, he recited back to her, "Two slices of cheese, lettuce, no tomato, two pickles, ketchup and mayo on the side. Satisfied?"

"Yeah, I guess," she grumbled. "Is he doing okay?"

"He's fine. Hold on, Andy." In a slightly more muffled tone, Oliver said, "Nope. Sorry, Brother. This is for your own good. Can't do it . . . . You knew when you signed me up for this gig that I'd take it seriously." A loud rustling sound came through the receiver, followed by a few grunts. Finally, Oliver cleared his throat and there was silence.

"Oliver, what's going on?" Andy asked impatiently.

"Just a minor scuffle, which I _won_. Your fiancé wants me to give him the phone."

"_Then do it_."

"In twenty years, you'll both thank me for this."

"Is that right?" she asked in a dubious tone. "I doubt that."

"No, listen to me—both of you. I'm speaking from experience on this one. Zoe and I spent the night before the wedding together. Even got up and had breakfast with her the next morning. Thought we were too cool to worry about tradition. And look where it got us . . . ."

"Okay. Fine," Andy said tightly, "but I still think you're being ridiculous."

"And I am more than okay with that, McNally. So did you need something?"

"Not really. Just wanted to check in. You know . . . make sure he's feeling okay about everything . . . hasn't got cold feet . . . ."

"Sammy, she wants to know if you've got cold feet." There was a long pause, and then Oliver said, "Andy, his feet are fine. Wants to know if _you're_ okay, though. Are you nervous?"

"Nah. Well, actually I am a little, but it's a good nervous."

"That's normal," Oliver said sagely. "It's a big day. You're supposed to feel a little revved up. Where's Nash? Isn't she there with you?"

"Yeah. She just went down to the front desk for a few minutes. Neither one of us remembered to bring toothpaste, so she's trying to bum a toiletry kit off of—"

"Andy," Oliver said abruptly, capping off the statement with a heavy sigh. "He wants me to make sure you really are okay."

"Yes," she said emphatically, "and I would tell him that myself if you'd let me _talk_ to him."

"No need. That's why I'm here. So, we've established that you're both fine, and you'll be seeing each other in an hour. What else is there to talk about?"

"Just promise me he's not having second thoughts."

Oliver laughed loudly. "You're kidding, right? No way. He's cool as a cucumber. Wait—McNally, I stand corrected. Apparently, he's _cooler _than a cucumber."

"So everything's okay, then? No wardrobe malfunctions? And you know the schedule?"

"Andy, Andy, Andy . . . ." He clucked his tongue. "Don't worry about a thing. We're both dressed and looking pretty sharp if I do say so myself. The car's picking us up in a few minutes and we'll see you at the church in an hour."

"Did the boutonnieres show up?"

"Got 'em."

"And you know the photographer's meeting you at the church to take some pre-wedding pictures, right?"

"We're on it."

"Okay," Andy breathed out. "I really can't talk to Sam?"

"Absolutely not. Just finish getting ready. Brush your teeth. Do whatever it is women do on the morning of their weddings, and we'll see you shortly. We'll be the ones at the front of the church."

"Okay," she giggled. "Thanks, Oliver."

* * *

><p>Sam stood at the base of a weathered set of stone stairs, eyeing the high arch on the building in front of him. Beneath it, large double doors stood open, waiting. This was it. Five years of soaring highs and gut-wrenching lows and now, here they were. For Sam, the path hadn't been easy, but finally, he felt confident that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.<p>

"Nice church," Oliver observed, stepping up beside him.

"Yeah," he agreed. "McNally found it when she was out on patrol. Seemed like the right fit, so we booked it that afternoon."

"_Sam," Andy blurted out as soon as he answered his phone. "I think I found it."_

_He laughed at the intensity in her voice. "Found what?"_

"_A place for the ceremony. Can you meet me over here?"_

_Sam looked down at the stack of files on his desk and sighed. "Yeah. Text me the address and give me fifteen minutes."_

_When he pulled up in front of the church, Andy and Epstein were standing on the front steps looking up at the ancient stone façade. Their backs were toward him, but as he got out of his truck and walked in their direction, Andy must have sensed his approach because she turned around and flashed an immediate smile. Rushing forward, she said, "Sam, this place is amazing. You've gotta see inside." Grabbing his arm, she pulled him along with her toward the church. _

_He actually did want to see inside, although technically it didn't really matter. Sam already knew the church was perfect. Anything that could put _that _smile on Andy's face had his automatic stamp of approval._

_As she tugged him up the steps, she chattered excitedly. "We talked to the caretaker and you won't believe this, but it's available on our date. Actually, it's available at one o'clock that day, and I had sort of pictured late afternoon, but they've already got another wedding booked. We can have it at one, though, if we want it, so you really need to see inside because Sam, it's _so_ great. Small and ornate with tons of charm . . . . Come on." She pulled open one of the heavy front doors and yanked him through with Epstein following closely behind._

_Inside the dimly-lit foyer, Sam looked around, acknowledging that the church did have a lot of character. _

"_See, this is where the guests will walk in," Andy was explaining. "And right here, the ushers will show people to their seats, which by the way, I think should be unrestricted. We don't want a bride's side and a groom's side, do we?"_

"_I don't know. Could be interesting, don't you think? Make our friends choose who they like better. Kind of like a popularity contest."_

"_No. We're not doing that." She bumped her hip against his and walked through the double doors into the chapel, beckoning with her hand for him to follow._

"_Why not? Afraid I'd win?" When she didn't respond, he said, "Epstein, remember this when you get married. The woman runs the show. She may ask for your input, but in the end she's got veto power over everything." _

_Andy spun around to face him, aiming a bored look in his direction. "Ha ha. You were pretty vocal when it came to the menu. As I recall, you were a fairly strong proponent of the coconut shrimp, and you got your way on that."_

"_Who doesn't like coconut shrimp?" Sam insisted.  
><em>

"_I love coconut shrimp," Epstein offered from behind them. _

_Andy ignored them both, wandering further into the chapel. When she got to the front of the church, she made a slow revolution, defining the area with her arms as she turned. "See, this is where you'd be standing while I'm walking in." _

_As Andy gestured to various points around the chapel, Sam figured he should probably tell her he was already on board. Of course, as perfect as the church seemed, he knew he would have easily agreed to marry her at a soup kitchen or anyplace else that made her light up the way she was in that moment. _

"_Epstein, can you give us a minute?" Sam asked. Without waiting for an answer he took Andy's hand and steered her toward the edge of the small sanctuary._

"_Yeah, sure. I'll be in the car whenever you're ready," Epstein said, backing down the aisle toward the doors. "But if my vote counts for anything, I think it's great."_

"_So Epstein likes it," Sam noted wryly. _

"_Which would be great if he and I were getting married," she laughed. "I'd rather hear what you think, though."_

"_I think this is the place," he said easily. _

"_Me, too," Andy readily agreed. She was biting down on her lower lip—hard—as if that alone might keep a lid on the excitement that was quite obviously threatening to spill out of her. _

_Sam scanned the room, taking in the richly-hued carpets and the thick pillar candles scattered around the church with an appreciative eye. And if the occasional nick or dent was any indication, clearly, it had weathered some storms in its day—not unlike their relationship. "Let's book it." _

"The next time you walk through those doors," Oliver said, gesturing toward the opening at the top of the steps, "you'll be Mr. Andy McNally. You ready for that, Brother?"

Sam had been ready for longer than he cared to admit. "I am. Got any last-minute advice?"

Oliver looked at him with a pensive expression. "Marriage isn't all that different from being a cop, man. It's just like we tell the rookies. You always watch your partner's back." When Sam raised an eyebrow, Oliver held up his hand. "You think you know what I mean, but it works both ways. You have to let her watch your back, too."

"I'm working on it," Sam assured him, because he really was. Opening himself up to someone else was never easy, but he was committed to making it happen with Andy.

"And you're happy?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. Then let's get you inside before everyone starts arriving. I don't even want to think about how much trouble we'll be in if McNally's limo rolls up and you're standing out in front of the church."

* * *

><p>"In less than an hour, you'll be a Mrs." Traci reflected, tipping back her champagne flute as she glanced out at the sidewalk. With ten minutes to go, they were sitting in the limo watching from behind tinted windows as last-minute stragglers walked up the church steps. "Got any butterflies in your stomach?"<p>

"Nope," Andy said, sliding forward in the seat to get a better look at the church. "Well, maybe a few. But just a small handful . . . not like an entire herd or anything."

"A _herd_ of butterflies?"

Andy scrunched up her face and tried again. "A flock?"

"It's a _swarm_ of butterflies," Traci laughed. When Andy looked at her skeptically, she explained, "I read it in Leo's science book. And if you're nervous, you should try this." She held up her glass demonstratively. "Believe me. It helps."

"I'm sure it does, but I don't want to show up at my wedding drunk," Andy informed her, taking a tiny sip from her own glass and immediately slipping it into the cup holder. "I really am fine, and once I get to Sam, I'll be even better. It's just the thought of having seventy-five pairs of eyes on me all at once. I could trip . . . or sneeze . . . . What if I have a coughing fit on my way down the aisle, Trace?"

"You'll be _fine_," Traci insisted with a patient grin. "And in a few hours you and Sam will be kicked back on a beach sipping fruity drinks with umbrellas floating in them."

"Well, a few hours might be stretching it. The honeymoon doesn't officially start until tomorrow."

Traci shrugged. "So I'll revise my prediction. In a few hours, you'll be holed up in a hotel room with Swarek, and I'm pretty sure sneezes and coughing fits will be the last thing on your mind."

"All very true," Andy agreed with a laugh as her eyes locked onto a couple that was walking past the car. "Hey, there's Sam's sister."

Traci leaned toward the window to get a better look. "Mildly intense . . . dour and unapproachable . . . . pretty much how I would've pictured her. Who's the guy?"

"That would be her friend Mark," Andy said, watching as the guy slid a tentative hand beneath Sarah's elbow when they reached the steps. He seemed to think better of it, though, and retracted it awkwardly, letting it fall back to his side instead.

"Friend or _boy_friend?"

"Friend, apparently, but I think it's complicated, so who knows . . . ."

Traci's eyes followed Sarah and Mark as they disappeared into the church. "Well, friends or not, I'd say that guy is definitely in love with her," she observed.

"Like I said, it's complicated. She brought him, though, so maybe it's becoming less complicated."

"That's proof that there's someone for everyone," Traci remarked. "Are things better between her and Sam?"

"Yeah. I think so. He's only spoken to her a couple of times since they cleared the air, but they're doing okay. I'm just glad to see her here today. She's pretty much the only family he has."

Traci chuckled. "So no more impromptu car rides?"

"Ugh. _No_," Andy groaned. "One long ride to the bus station and one even longer ride to St. Catharines . . . I think I've hit my quota when it comes to road trips with Sam's sister."

"You could've said no," Traci reasoned.

"Hah. Easy for you to say. You weren't there. But to be fair, it wasn't really a bad trip. Just uncomfortable." And odd, she added to herself. An odd day followed by an even stranger car ride alone with Sarah . . . .

_When Sam's phone rang, Andy barely registered the sound, consumed as she was with the stack of wedding invitations on the table in front of her. With a practiced grip, she hovered over an envelope with a calligraphy pen poised in one hand, shunning any distractions that might result in a wrong stroke and an unfortunate do-over._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam glance down at his phone. "Huh. It's my sister."_

_Andy froze, slowly turning her head toward him as the phone continued to ring. "Answer it," she finally said._

"_Right." He scratched his head and pressed the button to take the call. "Hello?"_

_The conversation was brief and efficient, consisting of fewer than thirty words from start to finish. When he hung up, Sam looked at Andy with a bland expression and shrugged, explaining, "She's in town, and she wants to stop by."_

_In a flourish, Andy began gathering up the invitations spread out in front of her. "I'll get out of here and give you two a chance to talk," she suggested, shoveling a stack of envelopes back into the box. "I've still got a few things left to pack at my place anyway."_

_"No," he said, stopping her movements by resting a firm hand on top of hers. "You're staying."_

_"Sam you haven't spoken to her since that day in the hospital. I just think you'll have an easier time talking if I'm not here—"_

_"You're staying."_

_"All right," she assured him, deciding that it probably did make sense to try and get to know Sarah better if they were going to be family. "But don't blame me if it gets weird."_

_"McNally, it _will_ be weird, and trust me, it won't be because you're here."_

_He wasn't wrong. It was weird. Andy had a feeling that "weird" might be the norm for Sam's family, though, so with that in mind, Sarah's visit actually went surprisingly well. There were, of course, several stalled attempts at conversation and more than a few strained silences, but ultimately, the afternoon went far better than Andy__—and probably also Sam—had expected when Sarah announced her intention to visit.  
><em>

_Initially, Sarah had seemed mildly surprised to see Andy in Sam's kitchen, but she'd recovered quickly and even cracked a tiny smile when Sam told her he and Andy were getting married. If nothing else, Sarah's reaction to the news led Andy to believe that she wasn't entirely against the idea of seeing the two of them together, and there was some relief in that. _

_As far as an actual purpose for Sarah's visit, there didn't seem to be one. Nothing was said about her blow-up with Sam in the hospital or the subsequent ride to the bus station with Andy, so Andy could only assume that the visit had been prompted by a general desire to re-establish the lines of communication.  
><em>

_When Sam offered to drive her home, Sarah readily accepted the offer, surprising Andy with her fast response. However, when she just as quickly requested that Andy be the one to drive her instead of Sam—_alone_—it was all Andy could do not to look stricken. __Beside Andy, Sam fidgeted in uncomfortable silence, eyeing his sister suspiciously. _

_"Relax, Sam," Sarah sighed. "We'll be fine. It'll give us a chance to get to know each other." After their last car ride together, Andy wasn't altogether sure they would be fine, but Sam merely shrugged, seeming strangely content to let Andy make the final call._

_For Andy, the thought of spending more than an hour in the car with Sarah wasn't a pleasant one. After their trip across the city to the bus station, she ranked being alone with Sam's sister pretty high on a list that included having a root canal and going to the gynecologist. Unfortunately, having two pairs of dark eyes staring at her expectantly didn't make it easy for her to decline and ten minutes later, she found herself behind the wheel of Sam's truck._

_The first fifteen minutes of the trip were punctuated with tiny snippets of stilted conversation. Each time Andy attempted to fill an awkward silence, Sarah issued a one or two-word response before lapsing into silence again. With each clipped retort from Sarah, Andy felt more and more like a colossal idiot. Finally, in an attempt to preserve her own sense of dignity and self-respect, she vowed to remain quiet for the rest of the ride. _

_So five minutes later, when Sarah voluntarily spoke up without any inducement, Andy turned to her in confusion, puzzled by the break in their established pattern._

_"You're right," Sarah said in an expressionless tone. Andy's only response was a blank look, and Sarah clarified, "He is different."_

_"Yeah," Andy agreed quietly, thinking back to the conversation they'd had on the way to the bus station almost a year before. Sarah's statement gave her enough relief that she offered a small smile._

_"I don't usually apologize," Sarah continued in a low voice, "but I'm sorry about the things I said. I was mad at Sam. At the time, I just couldn't imagine him ever pulling himself together. I mean, as you're probably figuring out, our family doesn't do anything close to normal."_

_"Sam and I both had some areas that needed work," Andy said, not willing to let him shoulder all the responsibility alone. "We still do, but we're getting better at it. And he is different. It's not so much that he's changed as a person but it's enough that we can be together now and I feel secure about our future."_

"_That's good," Sarah reflected, issuing a faint smile that seemed genuine enough. "I want that for him. He deserves to be happy."_

_Andy sighed and took a chance, insisting, "You do, too, you know."_

"_Yeah, well I'm a bigger mess than he is, but I guess you never know . . . ."_

"_That's right. You never know. Sometimes life carries you in a direction you'd never expect. It certainly did with me."_

"Looks like the stragglers are all inside," Traci noted, setting down her glass of champagne and sitting up straighter. "We should probably get going."

At the top of the steps, Andy saw her Dad hovering just inside the double doors. "It's time," she affirmed, drawing in a deep breath. She felt an involuntary tremor on the exhale and put a calming hand on her chest.

"Need a minute?"

"Nope," Andy responded immediately. She knew that if she could just get into the church, Sam would be there to hold her hand and steady her.

"Ready then?"

"Absolutely." Andy smoothed the front of her dress and slid toward the door. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>The doors to the foyer closed as the last of the guests trickled in, and Sam's heart rate kicked up a notch. By some tacit agreement among the guests, an expectant hush claimed the room, and Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other. As a restless anticipation washed over him, he scanned the small sanctuary, packed to capacity with their friends and relatives. They were all waiting, too, but no one was as ready to see Andy walking down the aisle as he was.<p>

Sam took a deep breath. He felt fidgety—borderline impatient. Where was McNally? He'd been waiting all day—much longer than that to be honest—and it was starting to do strange things to his nerves. He was ready for her to be there with him, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold it together if she didn't make an appearance soon. As he lifted his sleeve to check his watch, he raised an eyebrow, surprised to see that it was only one o'clock.

From behind him, Oliver whispered loudly, "Take it easy, Brother. It'll be starting soon."

"I know," Sam mumbled, biting back an irrational fear that Andy might be having second thoughts. He quickly dismissed the idea, preferring instead to focus on how far they'd come as a couple. She wanted this as much as he did, and there was no way she wasn't coming down that aisle. No, he knew he was just being ridiculous, and he told his emotionally-charged brain to calm the hell down.

In a gently teasing tone, Oliver said, "Bet you never saw yourself here . . . . Before McNally, I mean."

Keeping his eyes trained on the door, he said, "There were a lot of things I didn't see before her." Sam ran a hand across his face, making a manful attempt to hold back a smile as he thought of all the possibilities she'd opened up for him. From their very abrupt beginning, she'd been shoving open door after door, causing him to see and feel so much more than he'd ever imagined for himself. With such clarity, he still remembered the first time she'd broken through to him. He'd barely known her but even then, she'd had a knack for working him over and forcing him to open his eyes to truths that he would never have acknowledged on his own.

"_If you saw the kid take off, why didn't you chase after him?"_

"_Lady, I was playing a drug addict. Couldn't go down and chase him without blowing my cover. Not like it matters now . . . . Do you mind?"_

_Then she was gone and Sam was left shaking his head, wondering what had just happened. He was still angry. Angry at her. Angry at Jerry. Even a tiny bit angry at himself if he wanted to be truly honest. The anger was quickly subsiding, though, as much as he wanted to hang onto it. In its place was the unnerving realization that he should probably be feeling much worse than he actually was. A blown op, eight months of work down the toilet, and Sam was already starting to feel his hostility dissolving. It wouldn't make any sense if not for the nagging suspicion that it was all tied to a wide-eyed brunette with a penchant for ignoring boundaries. After all, he was angry—not blind._

_Sam leaned into the shower and turned on the tap, waiting a few seconds before slipping inside and yanking the curtain closed behind him. He shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting the hot water soak off some of the dirt and grime he'd accumulated during the months he'd been away. As steam filled the tiny shower stall, he began washing off the vestiges of his time on the street, and as much as he tried to empty his mind of everything, he found his thoughts returning to the rookie. Andy McNally. He couldn't get her out of his head. She'd known he was mad at her and still, she'd come looking for him in the locker room. And, as he begrudgingly admitted, he had to respect that about her. That was probably why he'd told her about the kid in the orange T-shirt when he could've kept it to himself and left her hanging out to dry. Something about her just made him want to help her and maybe even . . . please her? _

_Sam groaned, raking his hands down his face as a long overdue yawn escaped. He turned off the water, grabbing his towel from the hook and hastily drying off. He was going home. He needed sleep. And above all else, he needed to be alone in a place where overeager rookies wouldn't be busting in on him at every turn. All he needed was a solid eight-to-ten hours of sleep in his own bed and then he'd be thinking more clearly. _

Sam heard movement out in the church foyer, and he straightened his spine. The music shifted and to his great relief, he heard the first strains of the song they'd chosen for the Maid of Honor's entrance. Seconds later, the doors swung open and Traci breezed through them. Although she wasn't exactly moving fast enough for Sam's liking, he was still glad to see her, mainly because it meant Andy would be walking through those same doors in a matter of minutes. He took a couple of deep breaths, nodding at Traci as she came down the aisle, and then he immediately refocused his attention on the back of the church.

* * *

><p>"You're excited," Tommy observed, examining his daughter with a wistful smile.<p>

"You think so?" Andy laughed nervously. "I'm actually kind of a mess. I _am_ excited. I'm also anxious and really, _really_ happy. There's a lot going on in here right now, Dad," she explained somewhat breathlessly, putting a steadying hand where she imagined her heart to be.

"Well, you look beautiful, Sweetheart. I'm just not sure I'm ready to give you away."

"Then think of it more like sharing," she suggested.

"Sharing, huh? I guess I can do that. I'll share with Swarek anyway, because I know he'll take good care of you. He's a pretty good guy . . . ."

"Pretty good?" She arched an eyebrow at her father.

Andy knew that when it came to men, Sam was far more than _pretty good_. No one in her life had ever given her the kind of security Sam had—not even her own Dad, as much as she loved him. Sam had given her safety, and in that safety, she'd been able to thrive and learn how to open herself up to someone else for the first time in her life. With him, vulnerability didn't feel so scary because she knew that he, more than anyone, understood how to take care of her.

Before Sam, Andy had always felt like she was standing near the brink of a steep cliff. Afraid to approach the edge, her near-constant worry had been about what might possibly lie below. Then Sam had come into her life and little by little, he'd drawn her toward that edge. By the time she'd recognized where she was, she'd felt certain that even if the very worst happened and she went over, he'd make sure she had a soft place to land.

Learning to rely on another person had come so gradually for Andy that she hadn't even known it was taking place at first. Looking back, she couldn't point to one precise moment when the transition had taken place, but she did know when she'd first realized it was happening.

_Andy settled back into the seat of Luke's car, feeling relieved that the day had taken the turn it had. If circumstances had been different, she might've been at the station watching her father's arrest for Kaliciak's murder. As they pulled away from the church, Andy sincerely hoped this would be the fresh start her Dad needed._

_"So Swarek did good work with Kaliciak's wife," Luke was saying. _

_"Yeah. He was great today." Andy nodded, thinking that "great" didn't even begin to describe what Sam had done for her Dad. He hadn't jumped to conclusions, and he'd kept her calm. More importantly, he'd done everything he could to look out for her father, and in so doing, he'd also protected her. Sam had not only figured out that the wife was Kaliciak's killer, but he'd continued pursuing the issue until he was able to provide conclusive proof that Andy's Dad had been somewhere else entirely. Ruling out Tommy McNally as a suspect was above and beyond Sam's responsibility to the case. He'd done that specifically for her. The relief she'd felt when she saw the traffic cam footage was beyond measure, and Sam had given her that. Not Luke. Sam._

_"Hey," Luke said, breaking into her thoughts. "Do you wanna come back to my place?"  
><em>

_"What?" Andy asked absently._

_He laughed. "I asked if you wanted to come home with me."_

_"Could you maybe just drop me off at my apartment?" she asked with an apologetic smile, hoping he wouldn't read too much into it. "I'm just really, um, tired . . . ." She rubbed her temples, partially concealing a yawn with her hand. Right then, she just wanted to be at home in her own bed. Alone._

_"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want. It's been a long day," Luke said easily. "I get it. You'll call me if you need anything, right?"  
><em>

_"Yes. Definitely," she assured him. "Thanks for going with me."_

_After Luke dropped her off at her apartment, she immediately shed her clothes in favor of sweats and her favorite pair of fuzzy, blue socks. Crawling beneath the duvet on her bed, she relaxed into the pillows, feeling very drained but also incredibly fortunate. Again, she thought about Sam's efforts that day and what they truly meant. Sam _had_ been great. True, __Luke had been there for her, too, but Sam had been there first. Briefly, it occurred to Andy that she only felt comfortable involving Luke when things with her Dad had been tidied up, but she'd easily involved Sam even when everything was at its messiest. Luke was the guy who drove her sobered-up, repentant father to his AA meeting, but he wasn't the guy who got to see her mopping up blood off of her father's shirt after an all-night bender._

_When her phone rang, she slipped it off of the nightstand, smiling lazily as Sam's name appeared on the screen. _

_Before it could ring a second time, she answered. "Hi," she said softly, pulling the covers up around her and settling back into the pillows again. _

_"Hey, McNally. I know it's late. Just wanted to check on you . . . see how things went with your Dad . . . ."_

_"I think he's gonna be okay," she told him, closing her eyes as she let the sound of Sam's voice soothe the part of her soul that still felt mildly unsettled. "He went to a meeting, and that's a huge step for him." _

_"Good," he said, somewhat hesitantly. "Good. Well, I just wanted to check on you, like I said. I didn't mean to interrupt anything—"_

_"Sam, you're not interrupting anything," she interjected quickly. She didn't want him to hang up. Not yet. _

_"You're sure?"_

_"Yes," she insisted with a small laugh. "I'm just lying in bed in a pair of embarrassingly fluffy, blue socks. They're hideous, but they're warm. Besides, I like hearing your voice," she admitted, making a half-hearted attempt to remind herself to be careful. Sometimes fatigue had the tendency to blur lines that were otherwise fairly clear. _

_"Fluffy socks, huh? What's the matter? Callaghan not keeping you warm?" And there it was. The Confirmation. He was making sure she was alone. It was all a part of the intricate game they played. On the surface, they were friends. Beneath the surface, they were "friends." "Friends" carried with it a different code that only Andy and Sam knew. It involved a complicated system of double-meanings and subliminal messages that followed them through their days together at work and any interactions they might have after hours, as well. "Friends" was somewhere in that amorphous space between benign friendship and a deeper romantic commitment. It was __a place where they could both enjoy each other without having to think too deeply about what it all meant._

_"Nope. It's just me," she informed him. "But don't underestimate the power of a pair of fuzzy, blue socks. These things are amazing. I should probably get some for you."_

_"No, thanks," he laughed, and she didn't miss the ease that seeped into his tone."I don't need any more socks."  
><em>

_"Is this like when you say you don't want something but you really do?" _

_"No," he groaned, but she could hear the smile in his voice._

_"Fine," she huffed in mock annoyance. "I'll just have to think of some other way to thank you then."_

_"Thank me for what?"_

_"Sam, you know . . . for all the stuff with my Dad. You were really amazing today."_

_"McNally, we're partners. We look out for each other. You'd do the same for me, right?"_

_"Sure, I would. But today, _you_ were looking out for _me_, and that means a lot," she said. "So I owe you one."  
><em>

_"My sock drawer's full."  
><em>

_"So you said . . . . Don't worry. I'll think of something else," she said with confidence.  
><em>

_"Like what?" he asked in a mildly suggestive tone. "Do you wanna run some ideas by me?"  
><em>

_"Nope. But one thing's for sure . . . it's gonna be good. You can count on that."  
><em>

_When she felt the urge to yawn and failed to stifle it in time, Sam cleared his throat. "Andy, I think you need to go to sleep."_

_"Yeah," she reluctantly agreed, fighting off another yawn. _

_"See you tomorrow?"_

_"See you tomorrow, Sam. And thanks again."_

_"McNally, it was nothing."_

_"No," she disagreed as sleep threatened to pull her under. "It was definitely something."_

From outside in the foyer, Andy heard the music shift to a new song. As she recognized the familiar melody, the corners of her mouth turned upward and she looked at Tommy.

"Here we go," he said, hooking his arm around hers and pulling her in close to him.

Blinking rapidly to stave off any tears, she nodded at her Dad. The doors opened and she held her position for a few seconds before taking a first step forward.

* * *

><p>The doors swung open and two figures—one in black and one in white—stood at the far end of the aisle. Sam forced his eyes to look at Tommy first. He knew that if he didn't, he'd have no recollection of his father-in-law being at the ceremony at all because once he focused on Andy, he wasn't looking away.<p>

For two full seconds he watched Tommy and then his gaze automatically settled on Andy and his breath hitched in his throat. His mouth was dry. His heart was hammering. His palms were sweaty. The sensations hit Sam all at once, and as unpleasant as they were, he'd never felt better. And Andy had never looked more beautiful.

As she walked toward him, her smiles, her happy glances, the faint blush that tinged her cheeks . . . it all blended into a mesmerizing concoction of true McNallyness. Sam's heart and mind swelled with emotion as he thought about what was happening between them.

Andy McNally. She was amazing. So full of life. With a smile that made everything in his life brighter. Quite often, Sam found himself wanting to grab just a handful of whatever made her tick. Although he knew he could never actually do that, being tied to her for the rest of his life was going to be the next best thing.

Now, seeing her coming toward him, she stole his breath. Sam felt light-headed and emotional, and although he was on the verge of tears, he manfully stifled that impulse with a stern directive to himself. He did not intend to turn into a driveling mess in front of seventy-five people who could remind him about it later. But the feelings were there nonetheless, overwhelming him with their intensity.

For Sam, it had always been like that when it came to McNally. Everything was heightened. Blinding colors, sharper noises, increased sensitivity to everything . . . . With time, he'd learned to channel the emotions into something that worked for both of them. It didn't mean the feelings weren't still there, though, because they were _definitely_ still there. He just knew how to manage them better than he had in the past.

When Andy reached the front of the church, she extended her hand to him, and he grasped it immediately, pulling her toward him in a move that called to mind the very first time he'd taken her hand in his. They'd been in the parking lot at the Penny, and as he'd drawn her to him, he'd known right then that he was in trouble. Five years later, he acknowledged to himself that maybe trouble wasn't always such a bad thing. Trouble had brought him a sense of fulfillment that he never could have anticipated.

With Andy right in front of him, he could see that she was feeling as overwhelmed as he was. Her eyes were bright and watery with unshed tears. She drew in a breath, and he could feel her shudder as she let it out again. In her eyes he saw a fragility that often surprised him given her amazing strength. In response, Sam tightened his grip on her hand, earning him an even wider smile than before.

Then the minister started talking, and he felt thankful that they'd decided to go with traditional vows. Andy had preferred their simplicity and Sam had agreed for entirely different reasons. Even then he'd known what was now being confirmed for him. With Andy standing right in front of him, radiant in all white, he could think of little else but her. Reciting custom-made vows certainly wouldn't have been possible for him in that moment. As it was, he was having enough trouble getting through words he'd heard countless times before. Sam knew he probably wasn't quite as smooth as he would have preferred, but he meant every word—meant it more than anything he'd ever said or done in his entire life.

And then there was Andy. Well, if he occasionally had some difficulty reading what was going on in her head, this wasn't one of those times. Her smile was bright and vibrant, leaving no doubt about her thoughts. Every part of her was glowing.

All too soon, the minister was pronouncing them husband and wife. Sam had paid enough attention during rehearsal and every wedding he'd ever attended to know that what came next was the best part. As his lips found hers, he released every ounce of emotion he was feeling into kissing Andy. Somewhere in a very remote part of his brain, he reminded himself that they were in public, but the reminder was more like a tiny whisper that he found easy enough to ignore. There was too much going on inside of Sam to be held in check. Everything they'd been through together—all of it—had brought them to where they were right then. Looking back, it seemed like it had been inevitable since that first day when she tackled him in the alley.

Until Andy, happiness had always been a luxury he didn't need. At times, he'd even gone so far as to avoid it altogether. Happy endings were reserved exclusively for other people—a peculiar idea that he neither understood nor appreciated. But when he'd met Andy, she'd given him a thirst for something more and now, as he stood at the front of the church kissing her as if she were his last breath, he felt fulfilled and happy in ways he'd never imagined for himself.

When Andy giggled against his mouth, he knew it was probably past time to pull back. The minister fixed a patient smile on his face as he stepped forward and loudly proclaimed, "I now present Mr. and Mrs. Sam Swarek."

* * *

><p>"This first dance literally is our <em>first dance<em>," Andy pointed out. She leaned into Sam as they made a slow revolution around the dance floor. Every part of her felt fresh and alive, and she was pretty sure she'd be willing to stay right there with Sam until the end of her days.

"You were supposed to save a dance for me at Frank and Noelle's wedding," he whispered in her ear. "When I saw you come in, I thought about asking you."

"Why didn't you?" she asked suddenly, pulling back and searching his eyes.

"Just didn't seem like the right time, I guess." He shrugged and she relaxed into him again.

"Mmmm," she breathed, burying her face against his neck. "This is better."

"Yeah. Definitely better."

"How did we get to this place?" she whispered.

"I asked you to marry me. You said yes."

"That simple, huh?"

"Well, that's the important part," he assured her easily, smoothing a hand down the back of her hair.

After a while, she quietly mumbled, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"We both know you would've been just as happy at City Hall. So thank you for this. All of it."

"McNally, today was great. I may not care that much about weddings in general, but I love _our_ wedding. We can even do it again tomorrow if you want."

"Oh yeah?" she laughed. "Just forget about the honeymoon and have another wedding?"

"Hmm . . . tough call," he said, pretending to consider his options. "If I had to choose, I guess I'd go with the honeymoon."

"I thought so. You and me in a nice hotel on a hot, sunny beach . . . tiny swimwear packed and ready to go . . . ."

Andy felt Sam swallow. "How tiny?"

"_Very_ tiny."

"What color?"

"Red."

"Maybe we should save that for the hotel room."

"Why would we do that?"

"Because I don't really like the idea of a bunch of men on the beach ogling _my wife _in a skimpy red swimsuit."

Andy lifted her head and regarded him with a sly smile. "I didn't say the tiny red swimwear was for me."

Sam shook his head, sending her a look of forbearance. "Thanks," he said dryly, "but I think I'll pack my own bag."

"Suit yourself. If you forget your swimsuit, though, I've got you covered—sort of."

"I probably won't be needing it anyway," he said calmly.

"_Really?_" she asked with great interest. "Sam Swarek hitting the beach in the buff. I did _not_ expect that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I won't be needing it because I don't plan to spend much time on the beach."

"Is that right? Where are you gonna be?"

"In the honeymoon suite—with you."

"Alone in a hotel room with my husband for a week? I think I can handle that."

"I like the way that sounds . . . ."

"Which part?" she asked innocently. "Oh, you mean 'husband?' I guess that's a good thing, because I like saying it." She leaned toward his ear and whispered, "Husband. Husband. Husband."

"McNally, I didn't quite catch what you said. Try again."

"Husband."

"One more time?"

"Husband."

* * *

><p>"Not bad," Sam muttered to himself as his eyes swept around the hotel bedroom. The staff had already turned down their thick cream-colored duvet, leaving behind a smattering of red rose petals on the bed. Normally, the sight of rose petals scattered anywhere would've elicited a questioning brow raise and possibly even a groan from Sam. For one night, though, he found that he didn't mind the roses all that much. He was also kind of partial to their distant relative, the bottle of champagne sweating in a bucket near the bed. After all, it was his wedding night and as clichéd as it all was, he realized he actually did like the idea of receiving the newlywed treatment.<p>

As Sam leaned a shoulder against the wall across from the bed, he slipped his hands into his pants pockets and looked toward the door expectantly. McNally had been right behind him, but the sight of a tray of complimentary baked goods on the counter in the kitchenette had momentarily distracted her, leaving Sam to wander back to the bedroom alone.

His bowtie, long since undone, hung loosely around his neck, and he fought the inclination to toss it onto a nearby armchair. Oddly enough, he liked the feeling of it hanging around his neck and wasn't ready to take it off just yet. It was the same with his jacket, shirt and pants. The tux was part of their day and he wanted to stay in that moment—that day—for just a little while longer.

When Andy finally made an appearance in the doorway, it was with a sheepish grin. "These cookies are amazing. Sam, you've gotta try one."

He smiled indulgently at her, more than willing to pay homage to anything she appreciated. He felt calm, even peaceful as the warm, yellow glow of the bedside lamp melded together with his memories from the day, lulling him into a happy, satisfied daze.

As Andy returned his gaze, her eyes grew darker and more serious, striking a stark contrast with the bright white of her gown. Those same eyes were searching his as they often did, silently sifting through his thoughts and re-shelving them where she'd found them. Sometimes when she looked at him that way there was so much fresh innocence that it brought him to his knees. And sometimes not . . . .

"Do you want some of my cookie?" she asked coyly, breaking it in half and holding out the larger piece toward him with playful generosity.

Sam pushed himself away from the wall and walked toward her. Taking both halves of the cookie from her with one hand, he led her further into the room with the other and dispatched the cookie to the nightstand, where it was quickly forgotten.

Seeing Andy standing in front of him in head-to-toe white, illuminated by light from the single lamp in the room, nearly stanched the blood flow to his heart. More than anything, he wanted to really touch her, but he couldn't. Not yet. He needed to fully appreciate her _this_ way first. There was something so awe-inspiring about her. The air around her was soft and still, and he dared not move for fear that he would cause even a ripple around her. Until his dying day, this was how Sam wanted to remember McNally. Finally, he reached out with the hand that wasn't holding hers and ran it tentatively down the smooth, satiny bodice of her gown.

One side of her mouth turned up in mild amusement as she watched him. He knew she found his hesitance entertaining, possibly even odd, but he didn't care. He had one chance to acknowledge how amazing she looked in her wedding gown, and he fully intended to appreciate the hell out of her.

Eventually, his need to touch her evolved into a need to touch more of her. Circling around behind Andy, he raised a relatively steady hand to the zipper of her dress. As she glanced back over her shoulder at him with an alluring smile, he ran the zipper from top to bottom and the dress fell open to just above her waist. She did a slight shimmy, causing it to slip down to her ankles, leaving a shimmering white puddle of fabric at her feet. As perfect as the dress had been, what she was wearing underneath was even better because it was just for him. Sam traced a light hand over her hip as he circled back around to face her.

"I know black's your favorite, but this seemed more appropriate," she said quietly, looking down at the form-fitting white lace.

Sam let out a breathless laugh as his eyes dipped low. "White," he whispered hoarsely in a voice that wasn't even close to sounding as calm as would have preferred. "White's my new favorite." He locked eyes with her as he slid one finger beneath the thin white strap on her left shoulder and stepped closer.

Slowly, Andy slid her hands inside his jacket, nudging it off of his shoulders and down his arms. "Kind of a shame to have to lose the tux," she mused. "I like this look on you."

"You do?"

"_Oh_ yeah. I like it a lot."

When Sam's hands were free of the jacket, she let it cling to her fingers before finally dropping it to the floor behind him. Slipping off his tie, she cast it away unceremoniously, and he couldn't suppress the husky laugh that spilled out of him. Unfazed, she moved her hands to the top of his dress shirt and began a meticulous progression down his upper body, exposing more of his bare chest each time she flicked open another button.

"Did you ever think we'd be here?" Andy asked softly. She raised her eyes to his as she continued to work her way down his shirt front.

"Not until recently," he admitted, enjoying the warmth of her touch each time her fingers brushed across his skin.

Pausing near the bottom of his shirt, she said, "I still don't think it's completely hit me."

"Me either. I'm not sure it ever will, but ask me again in twenty-five, maybe fifty years."

"Hmmm," she purred in a sultry tone. "I like hearing you talk about the future."

Sam edged forward and his body brushed lightly against hers. Forcing his hand to remain steady, he ran it along her jaw line, slowly tilting her head to the side as he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Only with you." He paused, enjoying the feel of the delicate strains of her breath against his cheek. "McNally, my life started when you tackled me in that alley. You gave me a future."

Andy reached down and took his other hand in hers, bringing it up between them as she laced her fingers through his and brought their hands palm to palm. "Sam, I love you." It was said as a quiet utterance, a single audible thought that she seemed to want to share with him. "It's ridiculous how much I love you."

He breathed deeply against her hair, reveling in the intoxicating scents of honey and vanilla. _A ridiculous amount of love_. Sam knew exactly how that felt. He'd never given anyone the kind of power over him that she wielded and yet he'd willingly handed it over because he had no other choice. For him, it was Andy or no one.

When she drew back and examined his face, he saw in her eyes the same raw vulnerability that he often felt, and he figured she might actually be thinking something similar about him. That was a heavy thought to digest, but with time, he was beginning to believe it more and more.

Andy returned her attention to his shirt, letting her eyes fall to the last few unopened buttons. Her fingers nimbly flicked one button and then another, initiating a slow, methodical tease as she undid each one, ultimately undoing far more than the buttons on his shirt. When she skimmed her fingers beneath the cloth and parted his shirt, Sam swallowed hard and watched while she slipped it off of him, casually letting it fall in a forgotten heap atop his jacket. Other than the sound of their deep, even breathing, all that could be heard was the rustling of the fabric as it pooled on the carpet.

Gradually, Andy began her own slow circle around him, stepping over her dress as she disappeared from sight. Along the way, she hummed lightly, creating a sound that was almost indiscernible, but Sam heard it and it made him smile. When her arms slid around his waist from behind, wrapping him in a warm embrace, he closed his eyes and leaned back into her. Her fingers began grappling around his mid-section, and his eyes slowly opened again, looking down just as she grasped his belt buckle and deftly flipped it open. From there, she smoothly dispensed with the button of his pants and slid them down his legs with a demonstration of impatient carelessness that was fairly characteristic of McNally when she was motivated to make something happen. Seconds later, a light hand grazed his shoulder and she reappeared in front of him wearing an inviting expression. As her hand smoothly slipped from his shoulder down to his wrist, she walked backwards, towing him toward the bed along with her.

Sam followed her without question, watching while she unfolded herself on the bed and inched up the mattress toward the pillows. Between them, a silent rhythm existed. It was instinctual and sensual all at once—a language that only they spoke. It drew Sam to her, and as he sank down onto the bed, he looked at Andy in wonder. Dark hair cascaded around her face as she relaxed on the white linen pillowcase and briefly closed her eyes, creating an alluring array of silky tendrils that silently beckoned to him. Sam's heart swelled at the image she cast, and he knew he would willingly drown himself in her if the opportunity presented itself. Then her eyes fluttered opened and she met his gaze with the ease and familiarity of someone who truly knew him inside and out. And in that moment, she was just Andy. His _wife _Andy. With a loaded look and a welcoming grin, she took his face in her hands and drew him toward her.

Sam breathed deeply and sighed against her lips. As he lost himself in McNally, drunk with the heady sensation of officially being hers, one of his most poignant memories—a new one, as it turned out—floated to the forefront of his consciousness. With the swiftness of a solitary messenger on an important errand, it wound through him like a tiny gold thread, defining not only who they were but what they would become.

"_Do you, Sam Swarek, take Andy McNally to be your lawfully-wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, so long as you both shall live?"_

"_I do."_

"_And do you, Andy McNally, take Sam Swarek to be your lawfully-wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, so long as you both shall live?_

"_I do."_


End file.
